


Legacies are Complicated

by brydylcai



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon non-compliant USA, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Professional Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 116,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9680543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brydylcai/pseuds/brydylcai
Summary: Hooch agrees to commentate on an exhibition match in America at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, due to circumstances beyond her control or understanding, she brings Minerva back an unexpected souvenir.





	1. Flesh, Blood, and Broken Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because Scarletjedi was sick of hearing me complain about the canon Magical USA. I'm ignoring all of it. Except the parts I like. Which are very few. Also, Scarletjedi is wonderful because she then subjected herself to beta'ing the story she forced me to write. I wanted an American perspective on the second Wizarding War, and while I respect JK's wisdom in literally all things, I felt we needed a foul mouthed New Englander to achieve the optimal version of that. Also, I refuse to ever say the words 'No-Maj' because it's dumb. For those of you who don't like OC's, the second chapter has FAR fewer of them, except for aforementioned foul mouthed New Englander. She stays.

“I can’t believe you would be this irresponsible.” Minerva said, sitting heavily behind her desk which was piled high with unmarked scrolls of parchment and reference books. Hooch loved being in Minerva’s office at the very end of a school year. it made her look almost human: September to May everything was so organized it was irritating to look at.

“Yes, you can.” She replied, leaning back into the large wingback chair by the fireplace and fumbling in her robes for a pipe. This was going to be a long conversation and Minerva hated it when Hooch smoked in her study—at least they could be equally uncomfortable.

“Xiomara.” Minerva said, a hint of warning in her tone as she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squinted her eyes closed. “Do NOT light that infernal thing in here.”

Hooch pulled the pipe from her pocket with an exasperated sigh. It always got twisted up at the bottom hidden under several sedimentary layers of broom care tools, notes to herself on crumpled parchment, and confiscated possessions of the Weasley twins.

“We had an agreement, and you reheated cabbage and beets in the staff lounge last Thursday.” Hooch said, raising her eyes in challenge and reaching in her other pocket for the pouch of tobacco she kept there. Minerva opened her mouth to reply, thought better of it, and gave her grudging wave instead. Hooch smiled and inspected the bowl before opening up the pouch to pack it.

“It is my understanding that Quidditch was canceled this year and that every single First Year has achieved proficiency. Why on earth do I need to be here?” Hooch asked, pulling a stringy bit of tobacco out and pinching it into the bowl of her pipe. Minerva didn’t answer her right away, and Hooch looked up to see flaring nostrils and red creeping onto the Deputy Headmistress’s face just below the hairline. Hooch pulled more tobacco. Neither of those were good signs.

“It is my understanding that you are a faculty member of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Was I mistaken?” Minerva demanded, wrinkling her nose as Hooch lit the pipe, and soft tendrils of smoke drifted into the close space.

“You were not, but as I have fulfilled my teaching duties and the Headmaster so graciously canceled my only other responsibility without consulting me or informing me of his decision, I feel I have met the terms of our agreement for this school year—meaning I am free to do as I please with my time.” Hooch sat back in the chair again. The key with Minerva McGonagall was never breaking eye contact. This was a hard won and indispensable truth that Hooch had quietly passed along to some of her junior colleagues, though none of them but Arla Vector had ever had the stomach to try to use it.

“We’ve been over this.” Minerva said crisply, moving a stack of parchment rolls to the side of her desk and searching for something. Hooch eyed the small tin of ginger candies on the bookshelf over the Deputy Headmistress’s head but said nothing. “I thought we’d agreed that the headmaster’s decision was sensible.” Said Minerva, finally throwing her hands up in exasperation and looking around the chaos of her blotter, as if she’d missed a clear spot.

“You agreed.” Hooch said through the pipe clamped in her teeth.

“Xiomara, you can’t possibly expect—“Minerva began, pulling open a drawer on the right-hand side of the desk and peering in at its contents.

“I can and I do.” Hooch broke in, watching Minerva’s flush creep further down towards her nose at the interruption.

“The headmaster must continually make decisions that affect staff. Surely you don’t expect him to bring you in on everything having to do with Quidditch, which I remind you this decision was related to only tangentially.” She finished, shutting the drawer and holding the knob for support at the very idea of Dumbledore running ideas by the flying instructor.

“I do when he’s canceling Quidditch.” Hooch said. Minerva was fumbling in the other drawer now, and Hooch took pity on her at last.

“Bookshelf Min,” she said with a curt nod and a gesture of her still smoking pipe. Minerva looked behind her, gave Hooch an angry glare over her shoulder, and stood to retrieve the candies.

“The Tri-Wizard Tournament—“ Minerva began.

“Which you opposed reviving,” Hooch said through her pipe. Minerva clapped a hand angrily over the tin and turned, popping it open with her thumb and extracting a dark brown, sticky looking lump. She held out the tin towards Hooch who shook her head.

“That isn’t relevant.” Minerva said, reclaiming her seat behind the desk and putting the tin back in its normal place.

“At the moment, neither am I.” Hooch said flatly, taking a moment to relight the pipe. She’d been talking too much.

“We need someone flying over the maze.” Minerva shifted the candy in her mouth, “For the safety of the champions.” Hooch stared at her.

“Forgotten how?” she asked with a wry grin. Minerva’s eyes narrowed and she hissed out a frustrated breath through her teeth.

“You need to be here Xio,” she said, her face softening if only slightly. Hooch paused for a moment--it wasn’t like Minerva to use anything less than her full name in a chewing out.

“Why?” Hooch asked, extinguishing the pipe with a wave and sitting forward in her chair. It’d been too easy; she would be the first to admit she enjoyed baiting Minerva into actual human feeling, but this had happened far too quickly.

“Because I’m worried. Albus has been acting strangely,” Minerva said, tapping her fingers on the desk, a sure sign of nerves.

“Is that unusual?” Hooch asked, a weaker smile on her face now. Minerva frowned at her, her square spectacles sliding down her nose.

“No, but nor, at this point, is something uncommonly bad happening at the end of term all that unusual, and with the tournament…” Minerva began.

“You think there’s something he isn’t telling you,” Hooch said solemnly. Minerva frowned.

“I know there’s something he isn’t telling me—it’s Albus Dumbledore. What worries me is that HE seems worried,” Minerva said with a pinched sort of look. 

Hooch sat back. “And you think that when Grindelwald pops out of the victory cake, I’m your best hope?” Hooch asked, fumbling for the tobacco pouch.

“No, I think you’re passable at best, but one more adult is always helpful,” Minerva said, her fingertips resuming their tattoo on the desk blotter.

“There are three schools worth of teachers here right now, Minerva, and I’ve already committed,” Hooch said, furrowing her brow and pulling the pouch of tobacco from her robes.

“Uncommit, and I only ate cabbage one day last week,” Minerva said. Hooch froze, looked at the pouch longingly, wishing she’d had the foresight for a third pinch earlier.

“I can’t. They’ve organized a signing,” Hooch said, shoving the pouch back into her robes.

“Well, that clearly takes precedent over ensuring the safety of children,” Minerva said, standing from behind her desk.

“You encouraged me to do these things,” Hooch said, standing herself.

“Not when Hogwarts needs you,” Minerva said, stepping forward. Hooch hated this part; Minerva liked to pretend she didn’t know she was using her height to her advantage but Hooch knew better. The top of her head only came up to the Deputy Headmistress’s chin, which made appropriate shows of resistance a futile cause.

“Hogwarts has made it abundantly clear that they do not. I have no teaching responsibilities scheduled for that day, and it is my understanding that such time is my own. Do I need to take this to the headmaster?” Hooch asked, the color rising in her cheeks, stepping forward just enough to make her point without stepping into Minerva’s impressive shadow. The other woman’s face went white. A novice observer might think this a sign of fear, Hooch knew it to be one of fury hitting critical mass and unconsciously took a step backward.

“It’s…” Minerva started, her chest heaving with the effort not to shout. Hooch looked at her boots. She’d pushed it too far.

“It’s?” she asked, her voice resigned to the flood of anger about to be released.

“It’s a bloody exhibition match! I am asking you to do this thing for me, and you are hell bent on providing second seat commentary for an exhibition Quidditch match an ocean away! You can’t even apparate here if there’s an emergency!” Minerva shouted, her voice going more and more shrill with each mounting accusation. Hooch suppressed a wince.

“It’s the first time this has happened in a century! Lives are at stake! Even without the added threat of Death Eaters, or Merlin only knows what else--do you remember what happened at the cup this year?” Minerva finished. Hooch sighed.

“I do.” Hooch said, “I am also under the impression this place is going to be stacked to the gills with professors, aurors, parents, and if memory serves, at least three members of the Wizengamot. You don’t need an ex-Quidditch player,” she said, weariness finally breaking into her voice. She didn’t like it—it sounded like whining, and that was entirely ineffective with Minerva McGonagall.

“If Dumbledore says he needs you, will you stay?” Minerva asked “If I can’t prevail upon your sense of duty?”

“I have no sense of duty, it’s one of the many flaws in my character which you despise,” Hooch said flatly, holding her hands up in mock defense.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Minerva said through gritted teeth.

“If he asks me, I will stay. That being said, I’d settle for you asking, rather than telling me,” Hooch said, crossing her arms. Minerva’s face fell, honest confusion there.

“Are you saying we’ve been fighting about this because I didn’t say please?” she asked, a note of warning in her voice that indicated the other woman should be very sure of her answer before speaking.

“I’m saying, if you ask me to stay because you won’t feel safe with me gone that’s one thing…” Hooch began, smirking a little at the instant change in expression on Minerva’s face.

“You are insufferable.” Minerva said, “I am not asking…”

“Then I assume you can take care of yourself, and I’m going,” Hooch said, turning towards the door as if the conversation had ended.

“Xio,” Minerva said behind her. Hooch turned, looking at the other woman expectantly.

“Yes?” she asked, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m not going to win this, am I?” Minerva asked, a small smile creeping onto her face where abject fury had been moments before.

“Darling, I’m not sure if you were playing,” Hooch said, stepping back into the room.

“I really hate you sometimes, and I’m telling Albus so.” Minerva said, leaning back against her desk and putting her palms flat to the top.

“I’ll expect a summons from Dumbledore tomorrow morning then?” Hooch asked, Minerva glared at her in response.

“Do you want me to bring you anything from New York?” Hooch asked. Minerva rolled her eyes.

“A new flying instructor would be nice. I hear Gwenog Jones has been injury prone lately and is considering retirement.” Minerva said, drumming her fingers on the desktop. Hooch grinned covering the three feet between them in a step and putting a hand on either side of the deputy headmistress’s face.

“I shall do no such thing,” Hooch said, shaking her head. Minerva rolled her eyes again.

“Why on earth not?” Minerva asked, looking up at her for once. Hooch kissed her.

“She’s far too young for you,” Hooch said turning and heading back towards the door.

“Sometimes love I think you still are,” Minerva said to her back as the door closed behind her.

 

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

“Let’s go hotshot!” Myra DeMarco’s voice was piercing—you didn’t hear it in your ears, you heard it in your skin—and Jack was up and reaching for her broomstick before Myra could put that voice to any more use. It was her second year with the Banshees, and her captain had little patience for anything other than practice…which included putting on one’s socks completely or having a broom to play on.

“Sorry Cap,” Jack muttered, stepping past the Brooklyn native and moving to join the line of women in black uniforms with a purple silhouette of a screaming woman on the chest. The team’s two beaters, Keysha Willis and Mercedes Rico, crossed their brooms in her path.

“Don’t be sorry, be ready,” Myra’s voice rang out behind her as she moved through the locker room, rousing her keeper and two reserve chasers.

“Password,” Keysha asked as Jack sighed and moved to go around her teammates.

“I won’t.” Jack tried to the right of Mercedes now, but was blocked there too.

“You have to say it.” Sadie said, she was from California and had recently pierced her tongue, making it a little difficult to understand her as the swelling hadn’t completely abated yet.

“I will not say it. It’s stupid.” Jack tried to push through the middle but was caught up by both beater’s clubs at her ribs.

“I will not be jinxed, girl, say it,” Keysha said, pushing the end of her club into Jack’s stomach and smiling mischieviously.

Jack muttered, inaudible under her breath and pushed forward but Keysha pushed her back.

“Can’t hear you Bahstan.” Keysha was truly terrible at accents.

“I’m from Salem—we’ve been over this,” Jack said, trying to push her way through again.

“Say it.” Sadie this time, though she was pushing harder and it was beginning to bruise.

“McCubbin! Say it before we forfeit,” Myra barked as she passed the three of them, the rest of the team behind her.

“You heard Cap’” Keysha grinned. Jack sighed, her face was going red she could feel it.

“Harpies suck,” she said, spitting onto the concrete floor to register her objection.

“Damn right!” Keysha said, punching her in the shoulder in tandem with Sadie. Jack winced; it took them three weeks to drag that out of her, and now that it had happened it was almost a relief.

Jack took her place in line behind Leah Menschel. Myra was the only one ahead of them, chasers first, then Keysha and Sadie the beaters, then the keeper a tall blonde haired Nebraskan named Susan Whitmire and finally their seeker Loretta Kirby, a foul mouthed middle aged Texan who Jack adored beyond words.

This was always the worst moment, standing in the tunnel underneath the crowd. Jack had played in front of big crowds before, though the Banshees pull was normally pretty modest. She’d been the only one from her team to play in the States’ one World Cup match the previous summer, which had led to Keysha and Sadie referring to her as ‘big time’ for almost eight weeks straight until Loretta had put a stop to it. They had then taken to chanting the Canadian fight song every time she passed until Myra had threatened to trade them to Saskatoon for a jug of maple syrup and a recipe for poutine.

The crowd was large tonight; large and loud. She wasn’t sure how much of the noise was really for them. True Quidditch fans, those who spurned the much more combustible and popular American game of Quodpot, all had their favorite ‘real’ teams--and the Harpies were a perennial favorite for Americans with no hometown ties. In truth, as she’d made the mistake of mentioning to her teammates before the World Cup, the Harpies were her favorite ‘real’ team, which made Jack uncommonly nervous about what was about to happen. The thought of taking to the air against her childhood (which at sixteen was admittedly not quite over), was daunting to say the least. Jack had never felt this small before—she’d gotten through the World Cup mostly on bravado, and had no idea what she would’ve done if they hadn’t been flattened by Canada in that first match. 

There was a sudden hush, and Jack could feel more than hear the announcer welcoming the stands to the match. The sound of her voice was so distorted Jack couldn’t clearly make out what she was saying until ‘HARPIES!’ and the crowd erupted into screams and shouts and stamping feet above her head. Jack’s stomach flipped and her breath caught, straining her ears for the lineup as they were introduced. She caught Morgan, Bannock, Andrews, and finally Jones before the crowd became so loud for the Harpies captain that she could’ve heard the announcer better from the moon.

“Go.” Myra said, tapping Leah’s left arm and beginning to walk. Jack followed, lifting the stirrups of her Warhead 2000X, the finest racing broom money could buy, off of the concrete at her feet—a gift from her parents last year when she’d been drafted by the Boston Rockets. When she’d decided to forego that contract to sign with the Banshees, her mother, in a rare show of solidarity, had prevailed upon her father to allow her to keep it.

 

Jack was sweating already as they neared the mouth of the tunnel. The crowd was still shouting and stomping. Myra for a moment only, faltered in her relentless march cupping a hand to her ear, trying to hear the announcer over the din. Jack was thinking ruefully that it would be the first time they’d ever been booed in their home stadium when she caught the announcer shouting ‘BANSHEES!’ and Myra cursed jumping onto her broom and racing outward, Leah and Jack followed, there was a scuffle behind her as Keysha and Sadie had tried to take off in tandem and bashed into each other in the ascent.

If the announcer had called Jack’s name as she usually did, she didn’t hear it. The sudden rush of wind and noise as she took off into the arena drowned out anything else. The Banshees did not do the slow, waving entrance loops that most teams in the league did—every one of their brooms had a small, white, porcelain pipe on the underside, molded from a real banshee’s windpipe, and the pipes simulated (and rather effectively said most) the scream of the Irish fay the team was named for. But you really had to get a lot of wind, going very fast, for the effect to work—which meant that every match began with a deafening shriek as all seven of them streaked into the arena as fast as their brooms would go. Jack loved this part. When the team had been founded in the early thirties, the players had been allowed to keep the pipes on the brooms the entire match. When crowds began complaining that the constant keen frightened the pants off of the recent influx of Irish immigrants into New York, the practice was abandoned--though Myra had confided in Jack she thought it more likely that the Banshee players losing their hearing after three seasons of consistent play was the more likely instigator.

Jack couldn’t help but grin when the combined shriek of all seven brooms cut the cheering for the harpies off mid-shout. The pitch had been constructed in an abandoned muggle subway service yard, well away from prying eyes but still backlit by the city to the east. It had an almost abandoned look to it; the stands were constructed from muggle leftovers, steel girders from early Manhattan skyscrapers rising from gravel and dust and left bare up to the very top just for the effect of it, where the stands were bracketed by smooth discolored steel plating. When she was growing up, Jack had played in old New England stadiums, fashioned from ancient trees and stones: stately, elegant and screaming of money. People she knew who played in them now referred to her home pitch as the ‘Junkyard’. Brooklyn was entirely different; it was one of the reasons she’d wanted to play here—well that and that the Banshees were the closest American approximation of her beloved Harpies. As she shot out into the stadium, her nerves were already subsiding. She’d never felt more at home.

She looked around her to see waves of supporters in gold and green covering their ears, which finally allowed the admittedly vocal minority of fans in black and purple to add their own keening to the entrance. Many of the fans had their own shriekers, made from scratch, transfigured, or caught at a match, and there was a veritable sea of people, particularly in the eastern set of stands where the season ticket holders sat (they were affectionately referred to as Shriek Beasts), holding them up to their mouths or their wands to add to the din.

Jack smiled more broadly now, bending forward and pushing her broom as fast as it would go, shooting past Myra and Leah the crowd whooped appreciatively as Jack took the curve of the pitch at a breakneck pace. Heartened by the response, she turned over her shoulder to see Keysha and Sadie had followed her lead. Myra would have her head for it, but Jack didn’t want the Harpies feeling like they were playing in Holyhead.

“Louder?” she shouted over her shoulder to the beaters who just grinned ear to ear in response. Jack grinned back then pulled up on the broom, the pitch from her screamer changing as the air blew through it at a different angle. The matching shrieks behind her told her Keysha and Sadie were following close. The pitch was a long oval, and she was coming up on the second curve when she checked to her left—the Harpies were right where she’d figured they would be, in a circle on their side of center field. Jack smiled, hit the height she wanted, and made a hard left as she entered the second turn, diving towards the other team’s huddle. Keysha laughed behind her, loud enough to hear over the shrieking and the whooping coming from the stands as they realized what the rogue banshees were doing. Jack pushed herself flat to the broom and rocked right at full speed, letting her broom spin like a drill bit.

The Harpies keeper figured it out first, ducking hard to the right and shouting, there was a moment’s confusion from the other players before they too dove to either side, letting Jack, Keysha and Sadie split their circle down the middle. The crowd exploded in cheers, shrieks, and boos, the Harpies supporters trying to drown out the Banshees fans who were shrieking and howling with laughter. Chants of “U-S-A” quickly followed, even from some sporting Harpies colors. Jack pulled out of the barrel roll and let Keysha and Sadie match speed with her for a quick fist bump.

Gwenog Jones shouted an obscenity that Jack lost in the rest of the noise, but the red-hot anger on her hero’s face was plain. Jack wished she felt guilty about it as she streaked back to the side of the pitch, having the good sense to stay well ahead of Myra Demarco and the rest of the Banshees. When she finally slowed down and waited for her captain, the cheering had not subsided. Jack took the moment to slide her shrieker off of her broom handle and toss it into the stands. It was a pregame ritual that she enjoyed more than almost any other. The fighting for the trophy tonight was fiercer than normal, and Keysha ruffed Jack’s short brown hair, already sticking out in every direction.

The announcer, not their normal one, Jack realized now that she was in the air and felt herself; was discussing the move with her second chair.

“She’s barely out of her rookie year, a little overconfident wouldn’t you say?” a southern drawl came floating out over the pitch. There was a snorting laugh on the other side.

“Not if you’re going to fly like that.” A low, rough sounding voice, British accent this time replied. Jack grinned a little; Keysha was still laughing next to her as they came to a stop, and they watched the Harpies reassemble themselves at half pitch.

Familiar chants of ‘De-MAR-co’ were starting from the east side stands, and Jack watched Myra raise her fist in acknowledgment, though she never took her eyes off Jack. The beasts moved on to Leah’s name, though Jack thought she heard a few of the more excited ones interspersing a ‘Mc-Cub-Bin!’ in between who they were supposed to be hailing at the time—as the newest player Jack was last in the normal roll call.

“Cute.” Myra spat at her, an angry, knowing scowl on her face as she reached her errant players, “Hope we win now, after Gwenog Jones puts you in the damn hospital.”

“Oh, come on Myra,” Sadie started, pausing to wave to the Beasts who were enthusiastically screaming ‘RRRRICO!’ across the pitch. The captain cut her off as the rest of the Banshees, most of them barely concealing smiles, pulled up to the huddle.

“This is a professional club, act like it,” Myra said through gritted teeth. She turned her broom, leading the chasers towards center pitch as the others took their positions. Jack tried to muster enough humility to look suitably abashed as she pulled her goggles down—but the crowd was still crowing about it, and her mouth kept creeping into a smirk as she took her place at the head of the V. Customarily, this should have been Myra’s spot as the longest tenured Chaser, but Jack was too good on tip offs and Myra too good a captain to bow to custom. That was the exact moment when the Beasts reached her name; Loretta was always a holdout, miming deafness to make them shout it again and again. Jack let them get as far as ‘MC-CUB- ‘before crossing her legs beneath her, letting go of the broom, raising both fists above her head and guiding it through a compact loop the loop without breaking pace with the other chasers. She made a point of not looking at Myra’s face but could hear Leah snickering on her left.

Luckily for her, Gwenog Jones was in fact a Beater, and she wouldn’t have to look her in the eye just yet—but Grace Killian, the chaser opposite her, was clearly not amused by her little stunt either and was staring Jack down openly as the ref bent to the large bouncing leather chest on the ground and began to unlock it.

Myra had announced that they’d gotten box number 46 this morning. Each match had a random box of balls supplied for it by the USPQL to discourage cheating, and many, if not all players, had preferences for certain boxes over others. For some like Leah, it was just a matter of some sets being older than others: the wear on a quaffle might make it harder or easier to grip, a snitch that’s been caught hundreds of times behaves very differently from a fresh one, and so forth. For others, there was superstition involved. Jack was legitimately concerned that Sue might not play when they received box number 19 for a game against the crosstown Bronx Boggarts, because she insisted one of the bludgers was cursed and ignored every other player but her. Jack wasn’t immune to this either; the only tip off she’d missed last season had been the same quaffle that was about to get punched into the air beneath her, and she’d given her locker a savage kick that morning when Myra gave her the news.

There was something about tip off that made Jack focus. It wasn’t that she was flighty normally, just that she still had a sixteen-year old’s capacity to be distracted by things like a stadium of people chanting your name or a childhood hero on her broom only a few yards from you. But tip off always drowned all of that out—her world took on a calm, quiet hum, and she could see things clearly before the rush of chaotic action that would follow it.

Jack looked at Killian closely: she was right handed, Jack knew that just from being a fan. She was cheating just a little bit left, her hip dipped down on that side: she was going to spin, maybe shoot down after the quaffle instead of waiting for it to make it to them. It wasn’t a bad strategy, but Jack was going to make her pay for it. She looked down at the ref: she’d release the snitch first, it would take off god knows or cares where, then the quaffle, and then the bludgers in quick succession. The key was the right bludger: if it took off straight like it had the last time she’d gotten the box, she had a good shot.

The whistle blew once beneath her, and the crowd cheered as the little whizzing golden snitch took off into the night. Jack didn’t have a moment to glance at Loretta and see if she’d tracked it. The whistle blew a second time, and Jack pushed down on the front of her broom hard, going vertical and hooking her feet behind their stirrups. She glanced up to see Killian racing down behind her just a few feet back, her broom at a slight slant. Jack looked down, spotted the quaffle and the bludger in front of it, rising fast, being rather obliging all things considered, and unhooked her feet just a foot above the cannonball shooting at her head. Jack let out the breath she’d been holding, and released her grip on the broom, entering free fall and tucking her legs up and back. The bludger missed her nose by less than an inch, splitting the difference between Jack and her still diving broomstick. Jack grabbed for the broom handle with her right hand, listening and getting the satisfying grunt and crack behind her of the bludger colliding with Killian, then stuck out her left hand, never taking her eyes off the ground. Her glove smacked into the bright red leather quaffle, and Jack closed her fist as tightly as she could around the hard edge of stitching. She hooked her right leg over the still diving broom and pulled up HARD.

The crowd was screaming as Jack pulled herself out of the dive, bouncing gracelessly back onto the broomstick and streaking for the far end of the pitch, staying as low as she could.

“McCubbin comes out of the dive with the quaffle! I think she left her broom for a moment there! Killian seems to be all right, though she’s taken quite a hit to the sternum. I don’t remember ever seeing such an exciting beginning to a game that didn’t count before!” the southerner was shouting, though her voice was already magnified.

“She did leave her broom, Gwen, I’ve seen that move several times. And you’re right, a very risky maneuver for an exhibition tip off. I’m sure Killian wasn’t expecting it.” It was the coarse Brit this time. Jack rolled her eyes, of course it was dangerous: _(bludger-duck),_ she was on a stick, forty feet in the air, moving at 60 miles per hour, ( _Grabley really thinks she can tackle me with that obvious lead?_ ), avoiding flying people, flying bludgers and trying to keep track of two other people doing the same thing at the same pace. If you subtracted everything but the magic stick, it would still be dangerous.

“Hey hotshot!” Myra’s voice was above her. Jack smiled, sat up on the broom, and tossed the quaffle into the air. There was a dull thump as Myra made contact and sped off ahead of her. Jack pointed her broom up and shot like a rocket towards the sky. Killian and Grabley both swerved with a curse to avoid her, as Jack heard the distinctive shrieking from the east stands that meant Myra had beat the keeper.

“Banshees go up by Ten! Myra Demarco with a brilliant deke and toss past Grogan!” The shriekers on the east side of the pitch went off, and Jack rose to meet Myra, giving a quick look at Gwenog Jones ,who was furiously hitting a bludger back and forth with Keysha. Keysha was all smiles about it too.

“They’ll go Grabley,” Jack said before Myra could speak. Myra nodded and pointed Leah, who was hovering just over them, towards the right side of the pitch. 

“You got her?” Myra asked. Jack nodded, spinning her broom as the Harpy Keeper let fly, and Grabley raced for it as predicted. Jack took off, narrowly missing a rising Killian moving in to cover her teammate. Jack watched Grabley latch on and move to tuck the ball under her arm; this was always the weakest moment for any chaser—the most vulnerable. Jack lowered the handle of her broom. She had to come up under Grabley’s. What she was planning on doing was, technically, a foul, but not one that got called much so it was a fair risk.

Jack punched out with her left hand as Grabley’s broom kicked up, hitting the quaffle square in the middle and sending it shooting into the air. Killian was quick, but Leah was quicker—not bothering to try to grab it, just volleying it up and into Myra’s path. Jack disentangled herself from Grabley and barely avoided a savage kick from the angry Harpy.

“Demarco again! Twenty to nothing Banshees!” the southerner shouted over the shriekers sounding off again just behind the Harpy goal posts.

The Banshees were making quick work of the Harpy chasers. Jack fell into her usual role; she got the quaffle, and got it to Myra or Leah then watched them streak down the pitch. It wasn’t that Jack couldn’t score, or even didn’t want to, it was just she was better at reading other flyers than Leah and Myra was the best shooter they had.

“Jack!” there was a shout behind her, but Jack turned to move too late as the bludger bashed into her right shoulder and sent her spinning towards the Harpy keeper. She’d just extricated the quaffle from Andrews after Myra scored their sixth goal, and the quaffle went right back to the Harpy keeper.

“Jones with a savage hit on McCubbin. Grogan gets the Quaffle out to Killian, and the Harpies are headed up pitch!” the southerner shouted. Jack winced as she pulled her broom out of the spin and rolled her shoulder once to make sure it wasn’t dislocated. The padding helped, but it had been in fact a savage hit. Jack didn’t have time to think about it though as she sped off after the three Harpy chasers, who were tossing the Quaffle between themselves to keep it out of Myra and Leah’s reach.

“Hotshot!” Myra yelled back to her, and Jack took notice in time to duck a second bludger. This one grazed the tips of her hair, and she turned to see Gwenog Jones bearing down on her, bat raised and waiting for Bannock, the other Harpy beater, to supply her with another bludger.

Jack dove spinning towards the ground, ducking and weaving side-to-side to avoid being an easy target. There was a sudden shout from the crowd, and Jack looked up with everyone else to see Loretta and Julia Morgan, the Harpy Seeker, spinning around each other in a sharp dive. Jack didn’t see the snitch, but that was nothing new. Jack shot up towards Killian, who was taking advantage of the sudden distraction to make a beeline for the Banshee side of the pitch, coming up underneath her and giving her broomstick a sharp kick. The other chaser held on and swerved, gritting her teeth and kicking back at her. Gwenog Jones had apparently not been distracted at all as a bludger slammed into the back of Jack’s broomstick knocking the tail down and sending Jack into a backward flip that forced her to clutch the handle to her chest to avoid being thrown off.

“Kirby pulls out of the dive, Morgan a moment behind, and it looks like it was a feint.” The southerner said, disappointment clear in her voice as Jack righted herself and took off after Killian again. Jones had bought her chaser a lot of time, and Jack watched more or less helplessly as Killian feinted to her right, then threw left past Sue’s outstretched arms. She hadn’t had time to correct herself and the quaffle sailed through the middle hoop.

“Killian scores Sixty to Ten Banshees!” the southerner shouted into her wand. There was a great swell of cheering from the crowd and cacophonous boos from the east side seats as Jack spat and looked to Sue, who was furiously collecting the quaffle to throw it back in.

“Hey hotshot, feel like pulling your weight around here?” Myra asked, pulling her broom to a stop. Jack nodded. Leah smiled.

“Tank?” she asked waggling her eyebrows. Jack laughed, Myra groaned.

“You know, just because you come up with something doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to have any other ideas.” Myra said through a smile. Jack turned to Sue who was holding the quaffle over her head and held up three fingers. Sue nodded and waited patiently for Keysha and Sadie to pull in front before throwing the quaffle as high over her own team as she could. 

Jack shot after it, Myra, Leah, Sadie and Keysha just behind her. Jack had to slow up to allow her teammates to huddle around her, they reached the quaffle at the same time, Jack grabbed it and pushed it down the broom between her knees then crouched low as the entire team turned towards the Harpies goals. Myra shot out in front, her right arm hooked up tight under her shoulder Keysha and Sadie on either side of her, bats raised in challenge. Leah tucked her left arm high and tight in a mirror image of Myra and took off low to the other side of the pitch.

Jack dropped low, just a few feet off the ground really. The ploy was working. Both Harpy beaters were focusing fire on Myra, with Keysha and Sadie sending the bludgers at the Harpy chasers one after another. The bludgers were bouncing off the dirt ahead of Jack, Keysha and Sadie were hitting them so hard. The quaffle between her legs didn’t want to stay on the broom, and Jack had to hold her breath to keep it there, pushing her stomach out, she couldn’t use her hands yet or the Harpies would figure out the play too soon.

“DOWN!” There was a shout above her and quite suddenly there were four Harpies screaming towards the ground. Jack felt an odd, itching sensation in her left arm, chalked it up to surprise, and rolled right as the three chasers and Gwenog Jones reached the spot she’d been just a few seconds earlier. The game was up.

“SADIE!” Jack shouted over the crowd, who had just caught on to what the Banshees had been doing and were shouting their approval or condemnation over what was admittedly a fairly unorthodox play.

“The Harpies have pulled off Demarco…“ the southerner started sounding momentarily confused. Jack understood why, the commentator’s booth was higher than most of the stands and from above her, she was sure there didn’t look like there was any reason at all for her to be getting this much attention.

“Because McCubbin has the quaffle.” The coarse british voice this time, not bothering to hide her amusement. “It’s really a rather clever trick, though I’m not surprised the Harpies didn’t fall for it for long.” 

Gee thanks. Jack thought ruefully as both Keysha and Sadie got between her and the goal posts, Keysha swung backward towards the tail of her broom

“Jack you’re gonna want to duck.” She said calmly as she batted a bludger over Jack’s head to Sadie, who batted it back to her. Jack did as she was told, dropping back and below the two beaters as the second bludger whizzed towards Sadie. She batted it to Keysha, and the two of them moved on to the next part of ‘Tank’ as if nothing were wrong. They were juggling both Bludgers between them, just in front of what Jack was realizing was her rather delicate face.

“Look at that bat work it… that really takes some skill!” the older Brit finally seemed to be impressed by something, and Jack smirked.

You just wait, you old bat. She thought as the Harpy beaters hovered just behind them, thoroughly unsure of what to do. The chasers were even farther back, being unsure of when Keysha and Sadie were going to release a bludger back into play.

Gwenog Jones and Bannock, the other beater, took off over them. They were going to block them, force the issue. Jack frowned, “Close in.” she shouted. Keysha and Sadie nudged their brooms closer to Jack’s. It took some effort on their part, since they couldn’t take their eyes off the bludgers long enough to do anything but go straight at the same speed. Jack took her feet off her stirrups. Holding the quaffle carefully to the broom with her left hand, she sat back crossing her ankles under the broom and bracketing the handle with the sides of her feet. This was trick flying at its finest; she was balancing herself on the broom, with one hand holding herself on.

“What are you doing?” Sadie asked, fear obvious in her voice; they hadn’t ever practiced this.

“We’re going right.” Jack said, pulling her knees apart and putting the quaffle between them. She took a deep breath, reached a hand to either side, and grabbed the handles of the two beaters broomsticks.

“Don’t break my face,” She pleaded, steering all three brooms right and around the Harpy Beaters, with little shouts of surprise and alarm from Keysha and Sadie as the brooms swerved and then pitched up. Jack’s left arm twinged in pain, and she winced a little; she must have strained something in the transition. But her focus was entirely on not falling from her broom as she steered herself and her two friends, while not dropping the quaffle or getting bashed in the face.

“Jack?” Keysha asked her eyes wide behind her goggles as they neared the hoops. There was nothing in the way now.

“Left,” Jack said, Sadie nodded.

“Right.” 

“Okay middle it is.” Keysha swallowed hard as Jack let go of the two other brooms and desperately grabbed for her own.

“One,” Jack shouted, righting herself, finding the stirrups, and grabbing for the quaffle with her right hand in one move.

“Two,” Sadie shouted, turning to her right.

“NOW!” Keysha yelled, spinning on her broom and whipping a bludger towards the middle hoop, as Sadie hit the other towards the right one. Jack threw the quaffle as hard towards the left hoop as she could, staring hard at the middle one. Grogan, the keeper, lost track of which ball was going where, and ended up in front of the middle hoop. She managed to get hands in front of what she thought was the quaffle, but the bludger she’d actually managed to catch ripped her and her broomstick through the hoop after it—to the delight of the Shriek Beasts behind her.

“McCubbin, I think, scores, and the Banshees are up Seventy to Ten,” The southerner shouted excitedly as Gwenog Jones pulled her keeper out of the stands by her shirt front.

“Jones doesn’t look happy.” The southerner drawled with a laugh in her voice, as Gwenog Jones, who in point of fact looked livid, dragged poor Grogan back to the hoops. If Jack hadn’t already been taking a victory lap with Sadie and Keysha, she would have almost felt sorry for her.

“Kirby into a dive! Morgan is clear on the other side of the pitch! This could be it!” Jack looked to her left, Loretta was in fact in a steep dive arm outstretched. Gwenog Jones shot past her, calling for a bludger. Jack sped off after her, even as she heard the quaffle being tossed back in behind her. Loretta was close; she was laid almost flat to her broom, and Jack wasn’t about to let Gwenog Jones get in her way.

“You are extremely annoying!” Jones growled over her shoulder as Jack got between her and Bannock; it would hurt like hell if Bannock tried to get her the bludger anyway. Jack was betting she wouldn’t though, and at least she’d make their second best beater take the shot on Loretta.

“I’m a big fan?” Jack said with a grin and a shrug as she mirrored Jones’s attempts to change bearing, always staying in front of her club. Loretta had flattened out near the ground and was zipping around like a gnat after the snitch. Morgan was still trying to catch up and was, to her credit, gaining. Myra and Leah were chasing all three Harpy chasers down the field, divebombing the one with the quaffle in tandem and trying to knock it loose. Jack was bobbing up and down between Gwenog Jones and Bannock like an annoying fly in front of an angry bear. 

Loretta was going to pass under them in a moment, and Gwenog seemed to finally snap, swatting at Jack with her club and going into a dive to cut Loretta off. Jack shot after her, ramming her broom hard into Jones’s as they went down.

“Blatching!” the ref shouted, blowing her whistle. Jones didn’t stop and neither did Jack; fouls meant nothing if the game was over, and Jack intended to give Loretta time to finish it. Besides, she was fouling Jones to prevent her fouling Loretta, surely it all evened out right?

Jones threw an elbow into Jack’s chin. Jack stuck a knee into Jones’s stomach and looked down briefly to guage their distance to the ground.

Jack’s left arm exploded in pain, like it was on fire under her uniform, the skin cracking and burning sending bolts of lightning up her shoulder. She let go of her broom and grabbed it with her right hand out of instinct, doubling over and screaming in pain. It felt like it would consume her, like it was travelling down her spine and into every muscle she possessed. Somewhere behind her the shriekers were going off, drowning out the sound of her own screaming in her ears

“Something…wrong.” She heard the low, coarse rumble of the second announcer’s voice somewhere above her and to her left as her legs curled towards her stomach. She lost her purchase on the stirrups, and suddenly she was weightless—still on fire, but weightless—and the ground was coming very fast, faster than it should. Jack had just enough time to close her eyes and try to focus on the pain blossoming out of her arm before she hit the ground.

 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

“’Once more.” Hooch said nervously. The girl was still unresponsive. It hadn’t been a long fall, only fifteen feet. She’d seen far worse. But the girl had landed awkwardly on her side and still hadn’t woken up some fifteen minutes later, which was not usually a good sign.

“Again?” DeMarco asked, her wand hovering over her unconscious chaser.

“Does ‘once more’ mean something different here?” Hooch asked, exasperated pulling her own wand and touching it to the girl’s temple. It gave a little spark, and the girl’s body stiffened for a moment—and went slack again. 

Hooch had flown down the stairs of the commentators booth to the pitch the moment McCubbin had lost contact with her broom. There’d been something clearly wrong, and though she’d be damned if she would admit it to Minerva later, her teacher’s instincts had taken over utterly. Only Gwenog Jones and the Banshees, ignoring that they’d just won the match, had beaten her to the crumpled form in the dust. She’d insisted they move the girl inside before the crowd realized there was something truly wrong. There was a small infirmary just off the pitch, and they’d lowered her gently into a hospital bed, unmoving and looking for all the world like she was dead.

“She’s breathing.” Jones said suddenly, pushing past DeMarco and shaking the girl’s shoulders a bit. 

“She wasn’t?” the Banshee seeker, Kirby asked in a startled twang. Hooch rolled her eyes.

“The fall couldn’t have done that, Gwen what did…?” Hooch started. Jones glared up at her.

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything, Professor, I swear!” she said, angrily slapping the unconscious girl’s face twice with the palm of her hand as she protested.

“I really hope, for your sake, you’re not lying.” DeMarco said through gritted teeth, pushing Jones out of the way and slapping the other side of the girl’s face with her palm.

“Come on hotshot, you got this. Come on girly, wake up! Come on, dammit, Jack! Wake up!” DeMarco shouted.

“Are you trying to give her a concussion?” Whitmire asked, grabbing DeMarco by the shoulders and pulling her away from the bed. Hooch sighed. The panic in the room wasn’t helping.

“All of you out,” she said firmly.

“Like hell I’m leaving her in here with you two, somebody hexed my girl!” DeMarco screamed in Hooch’s face. Hooch stood up straight; she had almost half a foot on the woman in front of her.

“We don’t know that, and all of you in here behaving like hysterical schoolgirls is not helping,” Hooch said, trying to keep her tone even. It would be lying, strictly speaking, to say that Hooch wasn’t panicking, but there was something to be said for British stoicism. The Banshees had no composure to speak of, which DeMarco proved by pulling at the hands holding her back and launching into a shrieking tirade at the older woman.

Gwen had taken the opening at Jack’s bedside to resume gently slapping her face. 

“You know, you’re usualy wearing a nurse’s uniform,” The girl muttered as her eyes slowly pulled open. Gwen paused.

“What?” she asked, the shouting behind her stopped as the other women in the room became aware that Jack was awake.

“Well, normally, by this point in the dream—actually you’re wearing nothing,” Jack muttered a little slurrily through a weak smile and a laugh. Gwen slapped her full force across the face.

“Ow.” Jack said dully as Gwen stood back from the bed.

“Had to make sure she was awake.” Gwen said, her voice flat as she strode towards the door and through it.

“Am I awake?” Jack asked, raising a hand to her red face as her teammates flung themselves towards the bed.

“What’d she do?!” Keysha shouted as her hands hit the rail of the bed.

“It was the keeper wasn’t it?” Sadie said, her face angry and white as a sheet. Jack shook her head, trying to clear the stars from her eyes, unsure whether they’d been there before her Quidditch hero had slapped her into next week.

Was it the keeper? What was the keeper? 

“Wha?” Jack asked, trying to sit up. The room and all six faces before her eyes spun like a top, and she collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan.

“Everybody take two steps back!” a coarse, low voice with a British accent shouted from somewhere behind Myra’s head, and Jack was suddenly very aware of where she was. Her teammates, to Jack’s surprise, followed orders, and a tall, austere looking witch with white spiked hair and bright yellow eyes strode towards the foot of her bed. There was something familiar in her face, something Jack had seen before, and she squinted a little, both to focus and to blot out the light from the brazier at the far end of the room.

“Girl, can you look at me?” the voice asked, and Jack opened her eyes, trying to look the woman in the face.

“You’re Xiomara Hooch,” Jack said flatly as her brain finally connected the dots. Her vintage, seventy-five Harpies league champion poster on the wall over her desk at home blaring to the forefront of her mind. This was obviously a much older version of the woman raising the cup in victory on that poster, but it was unmistakable around the eyes.

“Well, I was going to ask you what your name was, the day, that kind of thing, but you seem to be a bit beyond that.” The woman said with a small, bemused smile. Jack tried to sit forward again, and Hooch held up her hand.

“Lie down, you took quite a tumble,” she said evenly stepping to the left side of the bed and past Keysha who was staring openly now.

“I’d never heard your voice before,” Jack said, her face twisting into a grimace at the throbbing, pulsing pain on her left side. It was radiating from her left fore-

“My arm,” she said weakly, moving to sit up again and reaching for the sleeve of her uniform with her right hand. Hooch wrapped a hand around her wrist and pushed her gently back towards the pillow.

“Not broken, we checked. You were lucky, though I’m sure it’s rather sore.” She said with a sympathetic smile. Jack rolled her eyes, she wasn’t eight years old, Quidditch legend be damned—she wasn’t going to be talked to like she was.

“No my arm, something—I don’t know what happened. I was flying, and then it was like someone lit it on fire. I don’t know what it was.” She said. Keysha and Sadie both jumped up from where they’d been leaning on the wall.

“Hexed!” they both said at once, pulling their wands from their robes and turning towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Loretta asked, wearing her best ‘no bullshit’ face. Both women stopped.

“To kill every bastard wearing a talon on their chests,” Keysha said with no irony at all. Loretta sighed.

“Can we confirm that first? Or are you intent on starting an international incident?” she asked, gesturing to the chairs at the wall. Keysha and Sadie both looked to Myra, who had her own wand out. The captain nodded grudgingly at the chairs, and the two beaters shot Loretta a dirty look before taking their seats muttering something about ‘Yorktown’ and ‘damn dirty royalists’.

“I don’t think I was hexed, it felt…” Jack started. Hooch was looking at her intently now, head cocked at an angle like a bird of prey watching a mouse. It made Jack uncomfortable, and she faltered before continuing. “It felt strange all game; it started itching, then it felt like a muscle sprain and then…” she looked up at Hooch who was frowning.

“Then it burned?” Hooch asked. Jack nodded.

“Let’s get that sleeve up,” Hooch said flatly, moving to Jack’s shoulders and helping her pull the robes over the padding up and over her head. She handed them off to Myra who looked distinctly put out by Hooch’s presumption to inspect her player.

Something was burning in Hooch’s pocket, a familiar, swell of warmth towards the bottom. She reached her hand into it and pulled the shiny glass ball, about the size of a small apple from her robes, it was glowing bright green.

“Just a moment ladies.” Hooch said, fear in her voice as she bolted from behind the bed, leaving a confused looking Jack with one buckle of her pads undone at the left shoulder as Hooch rushed past the rest of the Banshees and out into the hall.

“Minerva?” Hooch asked gazing into the small glass. Minerva didn’t try to contact her this way unless it was a dire emergency, and with the tournament final tonight, Hooch was sure it wouldn’t be good news. When her wife’s face appeared in the small globe it was tired and drawn looking, white and tight around the eyes.

“Xio, I need you back here now.” There was a note of panic in Minerva’s voice that set Hooch’s stomach in a knot.

“Why what’s going on?” Hooch asked.

“There’s no time! Drop what you’re doing and get back here, the Ministry’s on its way, and Cedric Diggory’s dead!” Minerva whispered harshly through the glass. Hooch’s stomach dropped to her knees.

“Are you safe Min?” she asked in a whisper, her breath hitching in her throat.

“Quite safe, but there’s panic here, and I could use you,” she said through the tension on her face, the result of trying to relay the importance of what she was saying and that everything was fine at the same time.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, but there’s been an accident here, I can’t leave immediately.” Hooch said nervously flicking her eyes towards the door behind her.

“Xio.” Minerva said, her voice low.

“What?” Hooch asked, opening her pocket with her free hand.

“Be careful, Potter’s been jabbering about You-Know-Who, and I don’t think he’s as mad as I’d like him to be,” she said, her chest rising and falling. Hooch swallowed hard.

“All right, you be careful too love. I’ll see you soon as I’m able.” Hooch said, bringing the glass towards her pocket again.

“Xio.” Minerva’s voice came again, higher this time, and Hooch stopped.

“Min if you want me there by morning, we need to stop.” Hooch said with a weak smile at the glass.

“I love you.” 

Hooch paused. “I love you, too,” She said, putting the glass into her pocket and pushing back into the room.

“The FUCK!” DeMarco shouted as Hooch walked into the room. The Banshees were huddled around the bed agai., Hooch took one look at the Quidditch pads on the chair just inside the door, and knew she was walking in behind the times.

“I-I don’t-“ McCubbin was spluttering in the bed.

“The fuck you don’t!” DeMarco shouted. Hooch took the distance in two strides.

“I SWEAR Myra I’ve never seen it before!” McCubbin shouted back as Hooch pushed through the throng at the bed. The girl was sitting bolt upright in bed, her hand on her arm just below the left elbow, beneath it in red, angry looking welts, was a long mark, a snake slithering around and out the mouth of a grinning skull. 

Hooch’s stomach moved from her knees to her boots.

“Where did you get it then?” Whitmire the keeper asked, looking afraid and angry as she pointed at the girl’s arm.

“I don’t know, it’s never been there before!” McCubbin protested, looking at the faces of her teammates in silent desperate appeal. Hooch’s head cleared for the briefest of moments, long enough to interject.

“You’re sixteen?” she asked. Jack nodded.

“What does that have to-?” Menschel asked, her face was taut with anger.

“She would have been three, at the oldest, when the only one capable of giving her that was last seen,” Hooch said as calmly as she could. 

She looked at Jack now. “Who are your parents girl?” she asked. Jack frowned. 

“Jarephal and Tabitha McCubbin,” She said, looking nervously at her arm.

“They born here?” Hooch asked. The names didn’t sound familiar, but far be it from her to know every damn Death Eater there’d been.

“My dad was, not my mother.” She said, inching back on the bed. What the hell was she driving at? Her parents weren’t like that—sure they were cold, and sort of didn’t like muggles or half-bloods or muggleborns, but they wouldn’t HURT anyone.

“What was her name?” Hooch asked. Jack froze, she’d just asked that, her head still hurt. She must have looked confused, because Hooch nodded and followed it up, “Her maiden name.”

“Macnair,” she said after a moment. She knew instantly that she’d said the wrong thing when Hooch gritted her teeth and swore.

“They aren’t, they aren’t like that,” Jack said, the faces around her, her teammates faces, wincing or falling—all of them wide eyed.

“What would you call getting a two-year old an evil homing tattoo?” Loretta asked, leaning heavily against the wall.

“How didn’t you see it before now?” Keysha asked, looking at Jack like she was almost hurt.

“I don’t know, but they aren’t…” she started again. Hooch held up a hand.

“Didn’t realize Macnair had any family, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not safe for you to stay here. Would one of you go get her some things from her locker please?” Hooch asked. No one moved for a moment, and then Sue stood from the wall and walked out of the room.

“It’s not safe?” Jack asked, a lilt of humor in her voice, suddenly her life sounded like one of Keysha’s muggle action movies.

“If that mark showed up on its own accord that’s bad enough. If it was put there before, it’s worse—it means he’s back, and he’ll be wanting a word with anyone who’s got one of those.” Hooch said pointing at Jack’s arm and pacing back and forth between the foot of the bed and the door with no clear purpose. Jack blanched, looking down at her arm with something like suspicion, like it had been doing things on its own for a while now.

“Were your parents at the match tonight?” Hooch asked, looking warily towards the door and not allowing her hand to twitch towards her wand, though she wanted to.

“No,” Jack said. Her head still hurt, and her arm still hurt, and she wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but she was pretty sure the woman from her Harpies poster was saying her mom was a Death Eater, and she was just starting to think she might be having a very vivid dream after all—when Sue returned with her traveling bag and muggle street clothes tucked under her arm.

“We’ll send the rest of it after you,” Sue said, stepping forward and putting the clothes at the end of the bed.

“Wait a minute where the hell is she going?” Loretta asked, looking at Hooch.

“I’m taking her somewhere safe. As soon as I know it’s safe to do so, I’ll send you word where. Now this is very important. If the McCubbins come here tonight, you are not to say a word to them about me, or that you know about the mark. Do you understand?” she asked the room. There were a handful of skeptical looks, and more than a few questioning ones to Myra—who looked Hooch up and down and then turned to Jack.

“Get dressed; we’ll cover for you. I want to hear from you, OFTEN, you understand hotshot?” Myra asked; her voice was shaking and her face looked pained. Jack couldn’t tell if it was anger or upset or both. She nodded, very certain that her own face was straight up fear and trying to change that—she didn’t want to look scared in front of the Banshees. The thing about trying to consciously look unafraid, though, is that you just make yourself look like you’re having a hard time, and Jack was too beyond tired and too fixated on her arm to pull that off with any kind of dignity at all.

“Broom first?” she asked, trying to give a weak smile. Loretta laughed.

“I’m keeping it. If we’re gonna suck this season, I may as well suck and be fast at the same time,” she said stepping towards the bed and laying a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“This is all very touching, and I’m really on the verge of tears—but my wife needs me, and there’s a homicidal maniac who may or may not have just resurrected himself, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get moving,” Hooch said with a glare at the bed. Jack winced when Sadie and Keysha flipped Hooch off and looked up to her teammates.

“Not that I’m not going to miss you guys, but I kind of need to get naked, and for some reason, out of the locker room it seems weird to do it in front of you so….” She said with an exaggerated look of concern at Sadie.

“I’m going to miss you,” Sadie said, punching Jack in her uninjured shoulder and wiping a tear away from her eyes.

_Sweet Merlin save me from the goddamned colonies._ Hooch thought as the Banshees shuffled out the door.

“So where are we going?” Jack asked, reaching for a hooded sweatshirt on the top of the clothes pile.

“I’m going home, and you’re coming with me,” Hooch said bluntly, leaning against the door and wondering what Minerva was doing at this very moment—and hoping it was dangerous or upsetting enough to make her bringing an American teenager home with her as a souvenir less distressing by comparison.


	2. The Joining of the Ways

"This is...really, really sweet,” Jack said through a mouthful of chocolate. Hooch had begun pelting her with sweets the moment they’d taken their seats on the train. Jack wasn’t even sure where she’d gotten them, as the other woman hadn’t left her side since they’d walked out of the infirmary at the Junkyard. She’d already opened, and spit out: Turkish Delight, a Walnut Whip, and Smartie—which somehow managed to be even sweeter than the American version even though those were actually just compressed sugar, and these were chocolate.

“It’s because it’s real.” Hooch was leaning back in the seat across from her, elbow on the arm rest and thumb pressed firmly to the place between her eyes. This was the longest reply Jack had gotten from the other woman on their journey here: a wizards-only underground ride to Ellis Island and then an international Appa-key from there to an abandoned tube station in London. Jack had never been out of the U.S. before, and she’d been nervous about such long-distance travel, but Hooch had merely taken her hand and rolled her eyes, leaving little room for argument or questions.

“What do you-?” Jack started, heartened by the full sentence.

“I mean that you’ve been eating brown wax for sixteen years. I’m not surprised you don’t know what chocolate tastes like.” Hooch rubbed her thumb over the spot she’d been pressing at, her eyes still closed.

“You know I always imagined you just a bit less- “Jack began, considering her chocolate bar.

“Clothed? That went over really well with Gwen by the way,” Hooch said. Jack blushed.

“No, I was going to say bitchy.” Jack said, snapping another bit of chocolate off for emphasis. “You’re a little old for me.” She was consciously chewing with her mouth open. Hooch’s eyes opened slowly.

“You do understand that this wasn’t exactly how I pictured my evening going?” Hooch asked, reaching into a pocket on her suit jacket (Jack had been impressed by the quality of her muggle street clothes, though surprised that she hadn’t changed once they were on the wizard only train) and extracting a flask. 

“Really?” Jack asked, opening her mouth a little wider on the chew that followed it. 

“You know that’s really very rude.” Hooch twisted the cap off the flask and brought it to her lips. Jack caught the faintest whiff of alcohol, not her father’s scotch—something sweeter, maybe rum.

“Wanna see how far I can spit?” Jack asked, nodding her head and taking another bite of the chocolate. Hooch sighed.

“Minerva’s going to love you.” She said to the ceiling. 

“That your wife?” Jack asked, inspecting the chocolate bar wrapper and wishing she’d paid close enough attention to the chocolate at home to adequately compare them. Her mother had always disapproved of sweets as a general rule, which had led to a mad binge of chocolate and anything else with sugar on it that she could lay her hands on when she’d left her home last year. Keysha and Sadie had been admirable procurers of rare and exciting things that Myra fretted would ‘rot the teeth out of your head,’ and Jack had finally listened to reason after eating enough cotton candy to make herself too sick to fly. 

“Yes, she is my wife.” Hooch said, untwisting the flask again and frowning at it.

“She cute?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow as best she could. Keysha could do one at a time and had spent an hour trying to talk Jack through it to no effect. Jack still looked surprised rather than suave no matter what she did.

“She’s sixty.” Hooch said flatly. Jack sat back in her seat.

“I’m surprised you went older. I always heard you were a womanizer. My mom hated that. You were my favorite player; she thought you were a bad role model for me.” She said, putting the chocolate bar on the seat next to her with the other discards and picking up the next one. It was called a Flake and the picture looked like it might give her splinters.

“Your Death Eater mother thought I was a bad role model? Someone find me a fainting couch.” Hooch said, there was an edge to her voice that made Jack’s chest tighten.

“Alleged,” She muttered.

“What?” Hooch sat up in her seat a little.

“ _Alleged_ Death Eater.” Jack said, unwrapping the flake bar. It looked fairly harmless. Hooch didn’t say anything back. Jack took a tentative bite of the chocolate, and it crumbled into a million pieces all over her sweatshirt.

“Fuck.” She said, brushing the crumbles of chocolate off of her front and swallowing the bit in her mouth with effort. Her throat was tight—why was her throat tight? 

“What’s palm fat?” Jack asked, squinting at the ingredient list. She didn’t think she had food allergies, but you never knew.

“I don’t know, nor do I care.” Hooch answered, taking another shot and letting a small smile creep across her face.

“Am I annoying you?” Jack smiled.

“Tremendously.” Hooch shut her eyes, “It’s not that I’m not glad you’re feeling better, but is it possible you could be unconscious from here to Hogsmeade?” 

“Can I have some of that?” Jack asked, pointing at the flask. Hooch opened her eyes, confused.

“Some of what?” 

“What’s in that.” Jack said, chewing at her lip and nodding.

“You’re underage, even here,” Hooch said, putting the flask in her pocket. She leaned forward and pulled on a short chain just to the left of the darkened window. Jack had been a little disappointed that they were making the journey in the dark; even under the circumstances she would have liked the pleasant distraction of rolling English countryside.

“Yes?” Jack jumped a little at the appearance of the drink trolley, her face flushing red.

“A butterbeer please,” Hooch said, pulling two silver coins from her pocket and handing them to the witch who smiled at Jack and handed her the bottle without asking if it was for her. Jack’s face went redder, and then just as suddenly, she was gone.

“Do you think she thought I was your kid?” Jack asked, looking at the bottle in her hands. It was warm. Jack furrowed her brow at that.

“I hope so. Or she’s probably calling the authorities,” Hooch said with a dry laugh and a sigh.

“Do they not have ice on this side of the ocean?” Jack asked; the bottle wasn’t just room temperature it was bordering on hot.

“That’s meant to be drunk warm. Before you balk, there’s an appropriately soporific amount of alcohol in it.” Hooch said, making a vaguely circular motion with her finger, indicating to Jack that the bottle cap twisted off.

Jack shrugged, twisted off the cap, and took a swig--then promptly began coughing and sputtering; it was even hotter out of the bottle and sickly sweet.

“Merlin, is there anything on this island that isn’t pure sugar mixed with hate?” she asked, working her tongue along the inside of her cheek like she could scrub the sugar out.

Hooch laughed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack woke up as the train was pulling to a stop, the squealing of the brakes just beneath her jolting her into early morning blue light. The mostly empty bottle of butterbeer was clutched to her stomach. Everything she owned hurt, her arm most of all, though her head was making a strong push--though that might just be the fact that it had been resting against the window pane for hours.

“Come on, up you get.” Hooch had appeared on her left side; she’d changed into her robes and was fastidiously smoothing the front of them.

“Do I have time to-?” Jack said, rubbing sleep from her eyes and looking for a place to deposit the bottle of butterbeer. The candy wrappers that had been on the seat next to her had vanished.

“No, you can change at the house, or the castle, wherever we end up,” Hooch said, pulling Jack’s travel bag down from the rack over her head and letting it drop with a whump to the floor.

“Castle?” Jack asked, a funny fluttery feeling in her stomach, “Did you say castle?”

“I did,” Hooch said, pulling her own much smaller bag down and hitching it over a shoulder before nodding at the aisle expectantly. Jack’s throat was very dry, but she bid her feet to move.

“What castle?” Jack felt a little dizzy, though she was sure it was just the sugar crash.

“Hogwarts Castle? Your mother probably studied there?” Hooch replied, exasperated. “You know, it’s like a house only bigger and more….stony.” She finished gesturing with her arm towards the carriage door. Jack’s breath was coming faster.

She’d heard about Hogwarts. Her mother hadn’t liked to talk about her childhood, but she’d been very clear about Hogwarts. Hogwarts had been the reason Jack had a tutor since the age of five. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to have the same terrible time she’d had. Once, when she was in a particularly good mood, Jack had asked her what was so bad about it. She’d replied there was nothing wrong with the castle, it was every person in it. Freaks and weirdos and hostile teachers with strict rules and twisted punishments.

_Not there, not there, not there_

“Can we go to the house instead?” Jack asked as Hooch put her other hand on her right shoulder and steered her towards the exit, taking a moment to shove her duffel roughly into her chest. Hooch pushed her forward off the train just as the whistle blew. It was turning around already, leaving them there.

It was still mostly dark, but Jack could make out the small village of Hogsmeade just ahead of her. Gas lamps were burning, and she could see soft tendrils of smoke wafting up from chimneys rising just a little over the hodgepodge of thatched cottages and taller, more modern looking shops.

“I don’t expect either of us to have a choice in the matter. I doubt very much she’ll be away from the castle already,” Hooch said, looking ruefully to her left. Jack followed her gaze, and in the distance, saw the outline of several tall towers against the sky. There were windows lit—it was so bright, in truth, it didn’t appear that anyone was asleep in the large dark hulking mass on the hill. Jack swallowed.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” Jack asked, looking longingly at the quiet little village on her left.

“No, it cannot,” Hooch said, picking up her bag and beginning to walk. Jack hesitated.

“Come on. I’m sore all over, I haven’t slept, I’m three thousand miles away from home, and I haven’t even been given a good reason why I should trust you yet!” Jack’s hands were shaking. If Hooch noticed, she didn’t acknowledge it.

“My wife wanted me home six hours ago!” Hooch snapped through gritted teeth. Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that why we took the train?” she asked, gesturing at the village, “Because I don’t think anyone here would have been- “

“We took the train because you are not of age to use magic!” Hooch was shouting now. Jack scowled back at her.

“This is not my fault! You didn’t have to take me! This was not my idea remember?” she yelled back. Hooch dropped her bag and took three long steps, and Jack fought the urge to take a step back. Hooch’s face was a deep red; her silver hair shone out brightly on top her angry features, and she stopped inches from Jack’s face--she was just a hair taller than her.

“Listen to me, because I am only going to say this once,” she began, grabbing the front of Jack’s sweatshirt and pulling her forward until their noses practically touched. “I do not want to hear one more word of petulant whining from you until I KNOW Minerva is safe. I don’t care that you’re uncomfortable, I don’t care that you’re sore, and I definitely do not care that you are not happy. That thing on your arm is dangerous. I have put myself in danger for you, now act like a damned grownup and be quiet.” She hadn’t raised her voice, but the cold edge in it put a lump in Jack’s throat that felt suspiciously like oncoming tears, and she bit the inside of her lip hard to stop them. Hooch released the front of her shirt and turned away from her.

“Pick up your bag and follow me,” Hooch said, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder as she strode forward and retrieved her own. Jack’s hands were still shaking as she lifted the duffel bag off the ground and slung the strap over her shoulders.

The walk up from the village was largely quiet; Hooch was silent and moving fast. The sun was just beginning to rise behind them when they reached a large stone arch with a wrought iron gate above which it read ‘Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’ Underneath it was a crest, also in iron, which made it difficult to see in the early morning light apart from the large ornate looking ‘H’ in the middle of it.

“Who’s there?” a high-pitched voice came through the dark as they approached the gate. Jack was looking right at the gate and didn’t see anyone. She reached for her wand on instinct, but Hooch raised a hand to stop her.

“It’s Xiomara, Filius,” Hooch said softly. There was a snort, and suddenly there was a little ball of light about three feet off the ground. The tiniest wizard Jack had ever seen was peering through the gate at them behind the glowing tip of a wand the length of his own arm.

“Who’s that with you?” the voice came again. Jack had brought her hand up to shield her eyes against the bright light emanating from the tiny wizard’s wand; she moved it, still squinting to let him see her face. Hooch hesitated.

“Need to know Filius; I’m to bring her to the Headmaster,” Hooch said. There was an odd, strained quality to her voice that Jack hadn’t heard yet, which she supposed was a good thing since she knew Hooch was lying.

“What is Minerva’s patronus?” the tiny wizard asked. Jack looked at Hooch.

“Filius, what is going on?” Hooch asked; the red was starting to creep into her face again.

“A student DIED tonight, and you just lied to me—what is your wife’s patronus?” he asked. Hooch sighed.

“It’s a cat: a little tabby cat with stripe,.” She said. The little wizard waved his wand, and the gate creaked open.

“Do you know where she is?” Hooch asked as Jack followed her through the gate; her stomach was getting queasier by the minute.

“Last I saw her, she was guarding Moody’s office,” the little wizard said, waving his wand to close the gate again.

“Thank you.” Hooch replied with a wave and a jerk of her head to Jack.

“A little- “Jack began. Hooch spun on her heels and glared at her. Jack shut her mouth but glared right back. Hooch turned and continued up the wide dirt path. Jack followed her through a small copse of trees and a covered bridge before they were finally at the castle proper. 

Jack’s throat was dry, and she coughed a little as they passed into a large walled courtyard and came to a stop before a great set of thick wooden doors. Jack knew there were tall turrets and towers above her, she’d watched them growing closer for the entire walk, but she didn’t dare look up now.

“Madam Hooch?” The voice came from her right this time. A very young witch was stepped out of an alcove on the side of the courtyard; she’d been hidden in shadow as they approached. She wasn’t especially tall, or especially short; she had a friendly, heart shaped face and short violently green hair. Jack subconsciously tugged the hem of her sweatshirt straight and ran a hand through her hair.

“Miss…sorry, Tonks what are you doing here?” Hooch asked, shaking her head at the misstep with concern on her face as the younger woman stepped fully into the light.

“Full blown Auror now Professor. I’m at work,” she said, stepping in front of Hooch and between them and the doors.

“You’re not going to-“ Hooch began, her fist clenching next to her pocket. Jack smirked a little. Delays were good; delays that annoyed Hooch were even better.

“How many points did you take from Gryffindor when you caught me breaking into the broom-shed seventh year?” Tonks asked. Hooch glared at her.

“None, you’re a Hufflepuff,” she said, frustration giving her voice that cool edge again.

“Checks out,” Tonks said with an exaggerated nod of her head and a small smile. ”Who’s that then?” Jack swallowed. She wasn’t good at this—it had taken her a month to say more than two words to any of her teammates. Loretta thought she was mute for two weeks.

“None of your concern, I need to see…Professor McGonagall,” she said. Jack’s brow furrowed, and Tonks laughed.

“Professor,” she said with a conspiratorial smile. Hooch sighed again.

“Tonks, are you going to open the door or not?” she asked. Tonks gave a mock little bow and waved her wand over her shoulder at the doors, which opened slowly, creaking with their own weight. Jack chewed the inside of her lip.

“Come on,” Hooch said ahead of her. Jack had been watching the doors open and hadn’t noticed Hooch start walking.

“You look familiar.” Jack stopped. Tonks was staring at her, eyes narrowed in concentration. Jack opened her mouth to speak.

“No, she doesn’t. Let’s go you.” Hooch grabbed for her elbow and pulled her along over the castle’s threshold and into a massive entrance hall. Jack took a look over her shoulder to see Tonks walking away, the doors closing as she put her wand back in her belt.

“What’s-?” Jack asked as they moved forward. The place seemed almost deserted—it was quiet as a tomb, their steps echoing off the stone walls.

“No questions,” Hooch said, hitting the stairs and taking them two at a time. Jack was struggling to keep up. if Hooch remembered that she’d fallen earlier, than she was telling the truth when she’d said she didn’t care.

Jack was used to a certain level of grandeur in old buildings. Her father’s family was very well off, and their manor house in Massachusetts had been stately, grand and very, very old. The castle was a whole different level of that; there were paintings on what seemed to be every inch of every wall, and they weren’t all unfriendly looking, which was a vast improvement over the ones she’d gotten used to as a child. There had been one portrait in the house, her distant ancestor, Thaddeus McCubbin, who’s painting depicted him moments before he was hanged, and who had shouted abuse at her every time she passed. Most of the others had just been unpleasant if she tried to talk to them, but the ones she passed on what seemed the tenth flight of stairs, the ones who weren’t talking to each other in hushed voices or running between frames to do the same, smiled weakly or even gave her a small wave as she passed. There were a few who were crying openly—she supposed about the student the tiny wizard had mentioned at the gate.

Jack was suddenly very aware of the throbbing pain in her left arm. The mark had been bandaged up at Hooch’s instructions before they left Brooklyn and Jack hadn’t dared to remove them since for a better look. She was sure it was still there, it wasn’t that, but it had been twinging and stinging ever since they had gotten to London, and she wasn’t sure, but it seemed to be getting worse the closer they got to wherever it was that Hooch was taking her. 

“Where are we-?” Jack began. Hooch grunted over her shoulder, and Jack stopped, rolling her eyes and wincing through the pain in her aching hip and back as she climbed up the stairs. They had reached, finally, the landing of a staircase and turned right instead of continuing up, and Hooch finally let her frantic pace slacken a bit. It was like the early morning light didn’t penetrate the castle at all. The torches on either side of them were the only thing breaking the darkness. 

There was a large statue of an avian looking gargoyle at the end of the hallway, and that seemed, at least from behind, to be where Hooch was headed. Jack’s arm twinged again, and her duffle dropped from her hand with a loud thudding noise on the stone floors. Hooch stopped and turned round; Jack had grabbed for the bandage out of instinct. 

“What’s wrong?” Hooch asked, anger leaving her face as she put her own bag down and walked towards Jack.

“What’s wrong is that no one’s to be up here.” There was a nasty, smug voice from behind Hooch, someone was speaking that Jack couldn’t see. Hooch’s face twisted into a sneer as she turned back the way she’d been facing.

“Filch, I’m in no mood,” she said. Jack turned her wrist, stretching and clenching her fingers together to stretch the muscles in her arm. It wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t think of anything else to try.

“Lots of moods tonight, dearie, and Headmaster’s orders are no one up here. ‘Till _his_ changes, it’s the only one I care about,” the voice came again. Jack peered around Hooch’s right side to see a lank, disheveled-looking man with a superior smile that was missing a few key teeth. She grimaced a little, involuntarily.

“I realize this is all terribly exciting for you. and it’s been ages since you had any real authority, but Argus, I swear on Merlin’s dirty knickers, if you don’t get out of my way I will END you.” Hooch hadn’t made a single movement towards the man or her wand, but he suddenly looked very nervous indeed. Jack had to concentrate on keeping a straight face as the old man coughed and wheezed, the skin of his bulbous nose flushing purple.

“I’ll, I’ll have you-“ he started. Hooch grabbed Jack’s bag off the floor then collected her own.

“Will you? You craven, useless-” she snapped. Jack, taking a step forward to continue watching the show, had to admire Hooch’s anger when it was aimed at someone else. The man jumped back, shrinking against the wall, then shouted in pain when the gargoyles claw hit him on the leg as it spun upwards, revealing a white spiral stone staircase behind it. Quick footsteps were already slapping against the stone down and towards them. Hooch stopped yelling, and Jack’s heart sank; anything that could stop that tirade couldn’t be good.

“What in the name of -?” a tall severe looking woman, in emerald green robes and wearing her black hair in an untidy looking bun had appeared on the still moving staircase. Jack was far away, but the anger on the severe-looking woman’s face was hard to miss and Jack took two steps back without even realizing it, even when the woman came to a sudden stop.

“I should have known,” the woman said with a smirk, her voice lighter with relief as she finished coming down the stairs and walked quickly into the corridor. Hooch dropped her bags and rushed forward. 

“Minerva I-“ Hooch was saying, but the taller woman pulled her into a fierce hug that cut her off and turned her round. Jack looked down at her boots, suddenly uncomfortable at witnessing something that was clearly meant to be private.

“You scared me. I expected you back hours ago,” Minerva said into Hooch’s shoulder, who for her part shot a nervous glance at Jack over her wife’s arm.

“About that-“ Hooch started, patting the other woman on the shoulders and signaling she’d like to be released. Jack flinched. She wasn’t sure if she’d been spotted yet and had the distinct impression there was going to be a scene when she was.

“Professor?” Filch was rising off the stone where the gargoyle had knocked him, and Minerva turned, still not looking at Jack.

“Are you quite all-right Argus?” she asked. There was little concern in her voice.

“Well-“ he began.

“Wonderful, go relieve Filius at the gate would you?” she said, turning back to Hooch and clearly signaling to Filch he’d been dismissed. The lank man stood, stared at Jack for a moment as if he was going to say something to her, and then stumbled off to his left muttering to himself under his breath, his hunched shoulders casting a crooked shadow on the wall well after Jack could see him.

“Xio, I need you to go to the grounds and relieve Charlie Weasley. He’s been doing aerial patrols all night, and I’m sure he could use a rest. There’s been a lot happening, and I swear I’ll explain it all to you but-“ Hooch’s mouth was open a pained expression on her face as she looked for a good place to break in, intermittently letting her eyes dart to Jack still standing in the middle of the corridor clutching her bandaged arm and trying desperately to become part of the floor. Jack heard something like ‘Dementors, Fudge, Potter-‘ before Hooch finally broke.

“MINERVA.” Hooch hadn’t shouted but had raised her voice, and the other woman’s back stiffened.

“Xio what-?” Minerva began to ask as Hooch grabbed her by the waist and turned her around. Jack had never felt so very small in all her life, and Jack remembered being small rather well.

“Hi?” she asked with a weak wave and what she was sure was a rather guilty looking smile. There was a moment, a long moment, when the woman was staring at her like she’d never before in her life seen a human teenager, which seemed unlikely since they were in a school. Jack swallowed hard, trying to appear friendly and not at all out of place. 

“Xiomara.” Minerva said, her face betraying not the slightest bit of what she was thinking, which Jack did not take as a good sign. The woman’s dark eyes were fixed on her face, and Jack looked away, at her boots again.

“I didn’t have time to tell you.” Hooch said, it was soft and a little sheepish sounding, which under any other circumstances might have made Jack feel just a bit better about getting yelled at earlier, but for some reason she was finding it hard at the moment to focus on anything but the laces of her boots.

“Who are-?” Minerva began. Jack looked up, picking at her bandage absently. The woman’s face softened, if only slightly, “What’s your name?” she asked, her voice still stern but even. Jack’s mouth was very dry, and she looked appealingly at Hooch who just gave her a pleading nod in return.

_Thanks for the backup._ she thought ruefully before finding her voice.

“My,” Jack paused, looking to Hooch again.

“Your name, yes.” Minerva said quickly, interpreting Jack’s hesitation as confusion. Jack licked her lips.

“My name is Jack-Jacqueline, Jacqueline McCubbin,” she said, stumbling over the syllables and feeling more than a little stupid.

“You’re American?” Minerva asked her, though Jack thought it wasn’t really a question.

“Yes,” She said, trying to meet the woman’s eyes this time.

“What happened to your arm, girl?” Minerva asked stepping forward away from Hooch, who went to follow her.

“I can-“ Hooch started.

“And you shall, but later,” Minerva said over her shoulder, her voice angry again. Hooch took a deep breath and a step back. 

“I-“ Jack began.

“Not here,” Minerva said, turning back to JackS he was pinching the bridge of her nose, and for the first time Jack noticed the red around her eyes. “Come upstairs. Most of the others have left; we’ll deal with this now I suppose.” She sounded tired now, more tired than angry anyway, and Jack was heartened that she might not be about to be screamed at for the first time since Minerva had appeared.

“Dumbledore will know what to do, you think?” Hooch asked as Minerva passed her, flicking her wand at the bags on the floor and sending them up the stairs ahead of her. Jack’s heart practically stopped. 

“I’m sure he’ll know better than I do, and I’d settle for that,” Minerva said, turning as Hooch moved to catch her up. Jack hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Are you coming, or is there something wrong with your legs as well?” Minerva asked, looking at Jack who was frozen to the spot, her mouth open in a position her mother had referred to as ‘catching flies’ when she was younger. 

“Not him,” Jack had said before she’d even realized the words had been coming, There were tears forming quite unbidden in her eyes now, and Hooch paused, looking at her with genuine concern for the first time since New York.

“What?” Hooch asked, taking a step towards Jack. Jack took two backward; she was close to the stair--she could run if she had to. Jack glanced back over her shoulder—she might make it if she surprised the., Minerva’s wand was already out, but if she could hit speed before Minerva knew what she was doing, Jack might have a chance.

“Not him, please not him,” Jack said, her breath was coming in ragged gasps know, and she looked at the steps where the gargoyle had been with panic written clearly on her face.

“Jack.” Hooch was getting closer. Jack hadn’t noticed because she’d been looking at the steps, and then the spiral steps, and why hadn’t she been paying attention? She could still run, but she didn’t know her way out of the castle, and _why hadn’t she been paying attention?_

“It’s quite all-right, Xiomara.” Jack’s eyes flicked from Hooch’s worried face, back to the spiral staircase; there was a tall old man with a silvery beard and a bright smile on his face holding up half-moon gold spectacles. Both Minerva and Hooch turned to face the man on the stairs.

Jack ran.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Jack froze at the top of the stairs, overbalancing for a moment until Hooch caught at her arm and pulled her back. Jack tried to yell but couldn’t; not a single part of her would move.

“Minerva!” Hooch said, pulling Jack back from the top of the steps and turning her around.

“Finite Incantatum,” Minerva said with a dismissive wave of her wand. Jack collapsed against Hooch, trying instantly to make her useless legs work towards the stairs again. She crumpled to the floor instead and grunted in pain when she landed on her bruised hip.

“What on earth-?” Hooch asked, pulling Jack to her feet and putting her elbow in a vice like grip to keep her still.

“Please, I swear, I don’t know how it got there! I’ll never bother anyone, but please don’t give me to him!” she pleaded through a cold sweat, gripping Hooch’s shoulder tightly with her right hand.

“Xiomara, I believe my reputation precedes me,” The old man said, walking the length of the hall in surprisingly little time for such an old man. Jack tried to twist away from Hooch, but the older woman was stronger than she looked and Jack’s knees felt a bit like jelly anyway.

“Damn right it does!” Jack snapped in panic, trying to pull away again. Hooch wrapped an arm around her shoulders, still clamping down on her elbow as she steered Jack to face Dumbledore. 

“Correct me if I’m mistaken: I hunt down perfectly innocent witches and wizards and brand them Death Eaters, and then I send them to Azkaban on falsified charges where they’re tortured and given the kiss?” he asked. He’d said it very calmly, he was almost smiling, and for some reason, that unnerved Jack much more than if he’d been nasty. Jack didn’t say anything, but tried to pull away from Hooch again; still no go there.

“No? Have I begun abducting naughty children and carrying them off to farm bezoars then?” he asked with the same lilting smile and good humor. Jack’s brow furrowed; she wasn’t sure if he was making fun of her or not.

“The first one was closer,” Jack said. Dumbledore was only about three feet from her now, and she was still breathing, her panic starting to subside.

_He’s trying to trick you._ the thought came, she thought for a moment, in her mother’s voice. She’d heard countless stories of this man from her family, mostly her mother, but Nanny, their house elf, had told them to her as bedtime stories too, whenever she was feeling brave enough to ask for a scary one. Dumbledore was the reason her mother had fled to America; no decent witch or wizard had stood a chance. She’d heard stories, the last year or so, that had unnerved her—people she met talking of him as a great man. But that had always been what her mother said he made people believe. He got you to trust him, and then when you were vulnerable-

Jack had never felt more vulnerable than she did right now.

“That’s what I thought. I assure you my dear, tales of my misdeeds have been drastically underreported and tremendously overexaggerated. Would you like some tea?” he asked kindly. Jack stared at him for a moment; she was still trying to make out what the first bit had meant. 

“Come on,” Hooch said sternly, pushing Jack forward down the hall. To Jack’s horror her feet worked at last.

“I don’t really-“ Jack began. Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling merrily, and she wasn’t sure she trusted it.  
“Hot chocolate then? The Hogwarts kitchens make a lovely cup of hot chocolate,” he said, reaching out to take her arm. Jack flinched, and Hooch pushed her forward again, keeping her just out of reach as they neared the staircase. Minerva was already heading up the stairs.

“You wouldn’t like it; they use real chocolate.” Hooch said, looking at her face and giving her a small smile. Jack gave a weaker one back, not finding any words ready.

“After you dear,” Dumbledore said, utterly unfazed by Hooch’s evasion. Jack looked at the older woman, who’s smile was looking a bit fixed now, and swallowed hard as she allowed herself to be led up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Jack found herself in a cavernous office. the early daylight had found its way in here and the torches were just beginning to be over-powered by the pale light peaking over the mountains on her right. There were four desks, very orderly arranged with instruments, letters, and books of every description. The largest desk was settled between either side of an arch shaped staircase, and there was a perch next to it, though no bird sat there. Jack moved quickly on to examining the hundreds of portraits on the walls. Unlike the others in the castle, there was no weeping or hushed whispers in this room, just many eyes fixed on her and paying rapt attention. It gave her an uneasy feeling; though none of them were shouting, she was strongly reminded of her parent’s house.

“Now, then Jacqueline, is it?” Dumbledore asked as the gargoyle staircase spun down into the hall below. Hooch led Jack to a small plush looking chair to the right of the largest desk, and nodded her head for Jack to sit. Jack was suddenly very distracted by the glass-fronted bookshelves across from her they were full to the brim with books, stacked at every angle, they seemed to be the only things in the office that weren’t fastidiously in order.

“Uh, just Jack…sir?” she said, unsure of the formalities when you were speaking to your childhood boogeyman.

“Professor Dumbledore will be fine, Jack, if you prefer. I do, if it’s all the same,” he said, waving a hand vaguely at her and settling himself behind his desk. Minerva was standing across from her, one arm propped on the other crossed over her stomach. She was pinching her nose again.

“We haven’t been properly introduced either, I think.” Minerva said, dropping her hand as she stepped forward. “My name-“

“Minerva.” Jack said quickly, pleased to know something for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Professor McGonagall.” Minerva said crisply. Jack shrank into the chair just a little, that small feeling back. Jack looked at Hooch who was smirking a little just off to her right.

“Perhaps I should start by explaining what she’s doing here.” Hooch said, the smirk fading. Dumbledore was reaching for something under his desk but McGonagall turned on Hooch like an angry cat.

“I would love to hear what possible reason you could have had! I mean, Xiomara-“ McGonagall snapped, her hands gesturing wildly at Jack and then Hooch in turn. “Thousands of miles from home, and is she even of age yet? Did you consult her parents? What would possess you?” McGonagall was clearly planning on asking many more questions before waiting for answers to them, and Dumbledore seemed to agree as he pulled a small box onto his desk top and opened it, extracting something small, yellow and coated in sugar.

“Sherbert Lemon?” he asked, holding the box out towards Jack. The idea of more English candy turned her stomach without it being offered by Albus Dumbledore, and she shook her head in what she hoped was a polite, non-provocative way.

“Albus, really, now?” McGonagall snapped, pausing ever so slightly when her eyes lighted on Jack, who was sitting tight lipped and white as a sheet in the plush chair.

“Jack, take off the bandage,” Hooch said, her face pink and sheepish looking behind the taller woman, as if she’d just realized that she’d made a terrible mistake. Jack hesitated, looking down at the bandage, and then at Dumbledore who was smiling brightly at her still.

“Jack, it’s all-right I promise.” Hooch said. her voice low and serious in a way Jack hadn’t heard it yet. She looked at McGonagall, hoping for just one person other than her to think it a bad idea.

“Go on, girl,” McGonagall said. Hopes for a reprieve dashed, and silently admitting to herself that she was far too deep now to hesitate, Jack undid the tape on the wrapping and began to pull off the gauze. As it slipped from her arm, she wince—not in pain, though it was still very sore and bit raw, but because she’d been too in shock to get a good look at it before. It was angry looking, raised and red, starting to darken around the edges. McGonagall gasped.

“How on earth? You’re far too young to have that,” she said. She was holding a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, and she sounded more sad than shocked or angry. Jack had braced for a wave of fury like the Banshees had unleashed in the infirmary; she hadn’t been expecting quiet pity. She pulled her arm back towards her chase, her face screwed up in anger.

“Yeah, funny isn’t it, she told me I couldn’t get a tattoo till I moved out.” She snapped reaching for the bandage to rewrap it.

“Jack.” Hooch said, her voice full of reproach. Jack stared at McGonagall; her face hadn’t changed a bit 

“It’s been a long night,” Jack said, suddenly feeling ashamed. Hooch grabbed for the bandage, pulled it away.

“It just…appeared on her arm. She didn’t even know she had it. How could that happen?” Hooch asked, looking at Dumbledore now. “I mean, I know how, I think I know how she got it— but how did it stay hidden all this time, and why would it appear now?” she asked, “If it’s real at all, of course.” She said quickly, looking at Jack. Jack frowned, this wasn’t a theory that had been mentioned to her yet, and you’d think if Hooch was trying to make her feel better she wouldn’t have waited until now.

Dumbledore put a hand out across his desk, smiling at Jack.

“Please young lady, I promise I will not hurt you,” he said, voice even and calm as if he were asking her when the next bus was. Jack hesitated, and then held out her arm. Dumbledore took her wrist in his hand and gently turned it so the mark was facing him.

“Do you remember having a birthmark or something similar in that area?” he asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles and examining her skin closely. Jack coughed a little.

“I might have, I don’t know. I never really looked,” she said truthfully, looking to Hooch like she might have an answer she didn’t.

“Well, even the marks on adult death eaters faded over thirteen years, and it had to have been very small, indeed.” Dumbledore said finally, releasing her arm. “But it’s the genuine article, I’m afraid to say.” He paused for a moment, looking very hard at nothing in particular on his desk.

“As for why it has suddenly appeared, there I’m afraid I’m quite certain of the answer. Voldemort has returned.” Jack froze, when Hooch had said it in New York, she’d written it off as paranoia. Hooch seemed to have as well, as she clapped a hand to her mouth.

“When he summoned his Death Eaters to him tonight, anyone with the Dark Mark felt it. I’m very sorry my dear, I’m sure it was a very frightening experience.” He finished. 

“How did your parents meet?” he asked suddenly, cocking his head to the side. Jack floundered, still lost in the news that the most evil Dark Wizard to have ever lived was doing the magical equivalent of paging her. Sadie and Keysha, after they stopped swearing, would have laughed at her for hours.

“My father did a year overseas. It’s a tradition in my family; it’s how they find new business partners. He picked England and met her on the trip,” she said. Her arm hurt, and she stretched her hand out again. Again, it did nothing.

“I see, and you’ve never been here before?” he asked. Jack shook her head.

“Well, he did go abroad. I’m sure he needed somewhere to stay,” Dumbledore said, rising from his chair.

“Is she in any danger, Albus?” Minerva asked, never taking her eyes off Jack. They were talking around her, it made her feel like an ill-behaved dog or an interesting house plant.

“A great deal, probably,” Dumbledore said, turning to Jack, “Did you know, about your family?” he asked. Jack shook her head again. They were talking about them like it was a foregone conclusion; Jack was trying to think of something to say to prove they were wrong, some example of incontrovertible generosity or grand gesture of compassion, but was having a disturbingly hard time thinking of one.

Her parents weren’t saints, and they weren’t particularly affectionate or warm, but they hadn’t to Jack’s knowledge ever hurt anyon—and You-Know-Who had definitely hurt people, there was no question. In every modern magical history book there was that point had been made very, very clear.

“McCubbin? The name doesn’t sound familiar, Albus,“ McGonagall said, consternation on her face. “Surely, we would have heard of them.” 

“Macnair.” Hooch said, before Jack had a chance to latch onto that argument.

“Macnair… Walden Macnair?” McGonagall asked, looking at Jack like she might change into whoever they were talking about. Jack had never heard of him. “He had a sister, a younger sister, her name was…” McGonagall paused for a moment. 

“Tabitha,” Dumbledore said quietly, looking at Jack and seemingly finding what he was looking for on her face.

“Your mother’s name is Tabitha is it not?” he asked. Jack set her jaw and looked at her lap, unwilling to look at him anymore.

“Angry girl,” McGonagall said quietly. “She’d have to have been quite young—I don’t think more than twenty-one when he fell,” she said. Jack wasn’t looking, but she was sure that McGonagall’s eyes were trained on the chair.

“Old enough, it would seem,” Hooch said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. Jack rolled it forward, shaking her off.

“My dear, you must understand,” Dumbledore said kindly, bending to bring his face level with Jack’s. “If you don’t wish to follow them, you must let us help you,” he said, putting a hand on her bandaged arm.

“I’m not a Death Eater, and I’m not convinced,” Jack said quietly, looking pointedly away from Dumbledore and studying the scrollwork in the dark wooden desk.

“American,” Hooch said with exasperation. McGonagall shushed her.

“I hope you’re right,” Dumbledore said. “Though I admit it seems unlikely, there is always hope. I’ve grown rather accustomed to being wrong; I find it suits me,” he finished. Jack moved her eyes to the floor.

“But if that’s true, then they would also be in danger, and more so if you are with them. So, if you’ll permit me to make a suggestion, I should think, until we are sure, that it would be best if you remained here where you can be protected,” He said, removing his hand and standing straight.

“I can take care of myself,” Jack said, moving to stand. Hooch moved to stop her and Jack pushed through it.

“You’re sixteen. Not even out of school yet.” She said. Jack smirked.

“Got my equivalency certificate last year, thanks.” Jack was eyeing the door now; the way they were talking they weren’t going to force her to stay, and Jack was sick of acting like furniture.

“Heading back to America?” McGonagall asked her voice dry. Jack nodded.

“It’s been a lovely trip—thanks for the diagnosis and the diabetes.” Jack moved to push past Hooc,h but the other woman grabbed her shoulder.

“Hear them out.” Hooch said through gritted teeth. Jack sneered and shook off her hand again.

“Why? No one’s given two fucking fidgets what I’ve had to say for the last couple hours!” she snapped at Hooch, “For all you people know, I’m the biggest blood purity freak in the States! I could be about to run off and report all of this to my psychotic mother, right? I mean, for fucks sake. maybe I was sent here to kill the grand high asshole. and it’s all been a clever ruse!” she pointed to Dumbledore, who hadn’t, it seemed, even blinked.

“There’s a simple way to find out,” McGonagall said loudly. Her arms were crossed, and she was staring at Jack in challenge. Jack rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What’re you gonna do, force feed me veritaserum? Imperious Curse? Cruciatus, maybe, that’s what he likes right?” she asked pointing at Dumbledore again. McGonagall smirked.

“I have to say the fact you view those as options doesn’t make me optimistic,” McGonagall said. Striding behind Jack and crossing the room, she bent at a bookshelf and turned around with a rumpled looking brown hat. She extended her hand to Jack, holding it out to her. Jack stared at her.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Jack asked, staring at the hat. Minerva looked over her glasses and down at her.

“You know, I really don’t approve of that kind of language,.” McGonagall said, gesturing with the lump of brown cloth. Jack extended a hand and touched the brim, jumping back in alarm when the hat popped itself open and yawned.

“FUCK!” she shouted, watching the hat roll it’s…shoulders? Neck? She wasn’t quite sure what it was rolling.

“Language,” McGonagall said as the hat opened wide at the brim again with another yawn.

“It’s only June,” The hat said in a garbled, sleepy-sounding wheeze.

“You’re needed,” McGonagall said. Jack turned and looked at Hooch and Dumbledore, silently asking them if the woman across from her was a lunatic. Her eyes lingered on Dumbledore and decided she was probably asking the wrong people.

“Haven’t written a song yet. Work in progress. Come back in September,” The hat wheezed, rolling its-elf again and starting to flatten. McGonagall sighed angrily.

“To hell with the bloody song; it’s only one person.” She said, shaking the hat by its point and swinging it toward Jack--who took another large step backward, looked over her shoulder at Dumbledore, thought better of it, and stepped back to where she’d been.

“Only…sort…students…” the hat said through more disinterested yawns. Jack smiled.

“Well that does it,” she said. “My mother was right that equivalency certificate was worth every moment of the exam,” she said with a smile as she moved to pass Minerva.

“Well that’s that, then,” Hooch said, taking a step towards Jack. “Take your wand out. Come on, I’ll give you a fair fight.” Jack turned around; the older woman was standing, inches from the still yawning hat, with her wand drawn.

“What?” she said. Her hand ticking towards her belt.

“I was your favorite player; why did I leave the league?” Hooch asked, her wand pointed squarely at Jack’s face.

“The war,” Jack said with an eyeroll, clearly trying to convey how obvious the question was.

“I left to fight Death Eaters; you refuse to provide any kind of proof that you are not one. You see my problem with letting you leave,” Hooch said, flicking the tip of her wand just the slightest in the direction of the door. Dumbledore, mighty wizard that he was said to be, was sitting quite happily behind his desk selecting another candy from the box. Jack stared at Hooch.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, looking at McGonagall and the hat.

“Back to school--until your parents arrive, exonerated, to collect you, or,” Hooch said, stepping forward, “we see how truly hopeless the American education system is.” Jack smirked.

“I was home schooled, remember?” she said, pulling her wand from her pocket and leveling it at Hooch. The other woman smiled.

“Even better,” she said, “Just know if you win, these two are going to tear you apart before you can say quaffle.” Hooch’s eyes flicked to Dumbledore and then Minerva, Jack’s did the same.

“I feel like I’m supposed to make a joke about compulsory education here,” Jack said with a weak smile over her wand. Hooch smiled back.

“We’re teachers; I’m afraid all you heard about us was quite true,” McGonagall said, shaking the hat a little. It grunted, annoyed. Jack looked at Dumbledore.

“The hat will tell you if I’m a Death Eater?” she asked. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “No, but it will tell us what you are—which is a start,” he said, gesturing to it. Jack looked at Hooch and McGonagall’s faces, no give there.

“You know, I could always just get myself expelled,” she said, lowering her wand and putting it back in her pocket. Hooch grinned.

“You’d be surprised how difficult that is these days,” she said with a knowing look at Minerva, who held the hat out to Jack again.

“Put it on,” McGonagall said as Jack took it from her and looked at it. It smelled like her grandmother’s study—vaguely moldy with a strong undercurrent of pipe tobacco.

“I told you, I don’t have a song yet!” the hat flapped suddenly in her hands, and Jack had to freeze to the spot not to drop it.

“Use an old one,” Hooch said with a sigh. The hat straightened up.

“I will not! I never recycle my work, and I only have the one verse thus far,” It said. Hooch gritted her teeth again.

“I don’t care if it’s a dirty limerick, will you do your ONE job please?” Hooch asked in a growl. The hat sniffed—at least it sounded like that it might just have been air escaping from one of its many weathered looking patches.

“Fine!” the hat said, “Lions are red, Eagles are blue, Badgers are yellow and fuck off Miss Hooch,” It wheezed. McGonagall turned her face, a blank slate with just the slightest twinkle of joy in her dark eyes away from her wife, and Dumbledore looked towards the ceiling. Hooch, for her part, looked positively stunned but only for a moment.

“You forgot the snakes,” Hooch spat. “Put the damn thing on,” she growled at Jack, who was considering revising her opinion of the hat. She lifted it tentatively, peering up into the dark interior, before taking a deep breath and putting it on her head.

_Highly irregular, but let’s see…not a coward are we? But there’s some ambition there, oh my, yes_ , the hat was speaking, she was almost sure, inside her head—at least she hoped so, which in and of itself, was disconcerting, _ahhhhh there we are…I think I’ve got you now, dearie_ …

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat had shouted the last part, and Jack pulled it off quick as she could.

She looked around the room, hoping to see relief or joy on someone’s face. There wasn’t much to go on, mostly they just looked tired.

“Well, that’s encouraging; at least we know you can be taught,” McGonagall said, taking the hat from her. It blew a very breezy, dry sounding raspberry at Hooch as McGonagall returned it to its shelf.

“What’s a Ravenclaw?” Jack asked, looking from face to face expectantly.

“It’s not Slytherin, and that’s good enough for me.” McGonagall said. standing straight again.

“Oi,” Hooch said with a sharp look. McGonagall waved an apology. Jack stared at Hooch.

“That didn’t tell you a damn thing, did it?” she asked, biting her lip. Hooch smirked.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Hooch said, looking at Minerva and letting her grin grow wider.

“Fuuuuck,” Jack groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead and closing her eyes.

“Language,” McGonagall said, “Two points from Ravenclaw.”


	3. Flocking Together

“What if they live in Scotland?” Jack asked, watching the plume of smoke rise over the trees and waft away to the west. She was in Hooch’s tower office, she’d been sleeping on the battered sofa there for the last week, with nothing to do but peruse Hooch’s spare bookshelves, mostly quidditch and broom care manuals that Jack had memorized by the age of ten) and watch the students on the lawn. There wasn’t much to see (mostly they huddled in tight groups, talking. Whoever this Diggory kid was he was clearly well liked. There was a lot of crying.

“Is today question day?” Hooch asked from the small spare desk behind her. When Hooch brought her here, Jack had been surprised at how bare the little office was, especially after the cluttered grandure of Dumbledore’s.

“I thought that was for big stuff,” Jack said peering over her shoulder. After three days of Hooch brushing off her questions with stall tactics, and then, Jack was sure, actively avoiding being in her own office, Hooch had promised her that once they’d left the castle Hooch would let her ask as many questions as she wished.

“And irritating trifles,” Hooch replied with a look of challenge. Jack rolled her eyes.

“It’s not an irritating trifle! It’s logistical incompetency! Why, if a student lives in the same country as the school would they take a train south for ten hours just to turn around and go north again? I mean why use a train in the first place? The school is magic! Every Brit I’ve ever met shits all over the US for not having the floo network and you’re still using trains?” Jack spun, gesturing towards the smoke in the distance.

Hooch stared at her for a moment, unblinking, chewed her lip for a moment as if trying to make a decision whether to scold her or laugh, then leaned back in her chair with a begrudging wave of her hand. 

“To be fair what you people have against fireplaces is baffling.” She said, “But to answer your question--just this one by the way--I’ve never considered it, but I suppose it’s just tradition,” She said with an amused smirk.

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Jack snapped, looking out the window again and laying her right hand on her left forearm without thinking.

“Probably,” Hooch said pushing the chair back from the desk and standing. “I think there’s a copy of Hogwarts a History at the cottage, perhaps you’ll find a more satisfying answer there. Are you hungry?” she asked. 

Jack grumbled a ‘yes’ over her shoulder and turned away from the cloudy glass. There had been cobwebs and balls of rolling dust on the floor for the first few days of her stay in the all but abandoned office and Jack had spent the better part of the midweek, cleaning for want of anything else to do. The window had proven too stubborn even for her best _Scourgify_.

“Well seeing as there won’t be any leftovers for you today I suppose we’re going to have to be a bit more proactive.” Hooch said turning back to the desk and scribbling something hastily on a slip of paper.

“They didn’t feed them?” Jack asked, legitimately surprised, from the heaping plates of leftover food Hooch had been bringing her every day she had assumed that Hogwarts students did nothing but eat.

“They had breakfast.” Hooch said turning and grabbing a pinch of floo powder from its small urn on top of the mantle and then throwing both the paper and the powder into the fireplace, “Kitchen” she said clearly, clipping every consonant.

“If you’re not careful they all go to your new head of house,” She said without Jack asking. 

“What’d you ask for?” Jack moved to the small couch against the wall and sat. Her stomach had been rumbling since she got up an hour earlier. She’d been sleeping late and Hooch had made no attempt to stop her. In truth Jack had needed it. Her hip still hurt, though the bruise was shrinking. Hooch had insisted that she not be taken to the infirmary over McGonagall’s objections on the first night. The argument being that whatever lie they were going to come up with to explain her presence come September would benefit from a full summer to be rehearsed.

“Food. End of term there isn’t much to request,” She said, returning to the desk and the copy of the Daily Prophet she’d been reading. She’d been leaving them for Jack when she was done with them. Jack hadn’t learned much; the paper wasn’t talking about much other than the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The small section in the back of the paper that dealt with international news had made no mention of anything Jack cared to know. A few derisive articles about the upcoming start of the American Quidditch season had been the closest she’d come to real news. Myra had told the USPQL that Jack had taken a leave of absence to deal with a persistent injury and that had gained a one sentence note in an article about the comparative softness of American players. It had made her face burn, but hadn’t actually told her anything she hadn’t known was coming.

“it’s not going to be sausage again, is it?” Jack asked wincing a little at the memory of her first contact with British cuisine.

“Not blood sausage, no, at least I don’t think. No idea what they still have down there. I told you to try the others.” She said looking up if only momentarily from the paper.

“I did try the others.” Jack said, her mouth reflexively stretching at the thought of the blood pudding and then the tripe. She had accused Hooch of bringing her disgusting things on purpose by the third day. She had received only a glare in response, but she wasn’t sure it had exactly been a denial.

“We really are going to have to work on expanding your horizons a bit,” Hooch said. “If nothing else, come tonight there won’t be any more Elf cooked meals, and neither Minerva or I are particularly good in the kitchen,” She finished looking thoughtfully at the door, expectant.

“So I’m staying with you?” Jack asked looking up at the door as well, not sure what she was looking for, but feeling it the thing to do. Hooch had never confirmed this, she’d said there were many options all of which she had intended to lobby for vigorously. Hooch sighed.

“Yes, over my strong protestations you are coming home with us.” Hooch said looking pointedly back to the paper.

“Where is home?” Jack asked a sudden flutter of nerves replacing the hunger in her stomach.

“Hogsmeade. As soon as the train leaves, we’ll meet Minerva downstairs and then walk to the cottage. After a brief stop at Hagrid’s to say goodbye,” Hooch said looking at the door again.

Jack gave a short snort of a laugh. Hooch looked at her eyebrows raised in question.

“I always figured teachers must throw themselves a party at the end of the year,” Jack said looking at the door again, “You know get good and drunk and be glad the kids are gone.” Hooch lowered the paper.

“If all of them are still breathing at end of term we do,” She said, her face turning sour. Jack looked at her shoes.

“Sorry.” She muttered to the floor. Hooch sighed.

“That was unfair,” She said, Jack heard the paper flap against the desk as it was dropped. “I’ve just never wanted to leave this place so badly.” 

Jack looked up, the older woman was leaning against the desktop, fingers pressed firmly to her temples.

“Did you know him really well?” Jack asked, Hooch’s eyes opened, and for a moment Jack thought she’d earned herself another barb. She bit her lip and turned her head to face the door again.

“I didn’t. He was a wonderful flyer. Didn’t need my attention much. Captain of the Hufflepuff team. A very kind boy,” Hooch said after a moment. 

“What’s a Hufflepuff?” Jack asked, trying to change the subject. Hooch stared at her for a moment, her face utterly blank.  
“To be honest I’m still not sure they know,” Hooch said. 

The door burst open with a loud bang that made both Hooch and Jack jump out of their respective seats. In the doorway was a tottering silver tray flanked by two enormous ears sheathed in black woolen socks. Jack slipped her wand back into her pocket, nerves fading and moved to help the Elf. The tray was comically big for him.

“Dobby is sorry miss, the kitchens are…well they’re a bit of a mess at the moment with…” Dobby paused, looking sad, then surprised as he looked up and saw Jack walking towards him. The elf was clad almost completely in socks save his sweater, all of it black. Jack thought he looked like a tiny robber.

“Hi,” Jack said, raising a hand briefly and giving the elf a weak smile. The elf tilted his big head to the right, like he was trying to decide if Jack was real.

“Dobby this is…Jack. She’s visiting with me for a few days before end of term,” Hooch said stepping away from the door. “You were saying about the kitchens?” she added, but the elf was not distracted even momentarily. Staring at Jack as he walked into the room and set the tray down on the small table in the middle in front of the fire.

“Dobby is sorry Miss, he hasn’t seen you before.” He said, righting his head, his be-socked ears bobbing straight again. Jack smiled, giving the briefest of glances to Hooch.

“Don’t worry about it Dobby. It’s ok.” She said looking at the tray, “Dobby?” she said looking back at the elf, “I’ve never been to England before…” she started the elf perked up.

“We are in Scotland miss,” He said, smiling and nodding his head. Jack smiled back at him.

“Right,” she said, looking at the tray again. “So, I don’t know about the food here…” she started giving the elf a weak, apologetic smile.

Dobby’s face shifted dramatically, a large knowing smile crossing his face beneath his large pointed nose. “Miss is American?” he asked nodding his head. Jack smiled wider.

“Yeah, but I’m guessing there aren’t any hot dogs around here?” she asked, laughing along with the elf when he let out a cackle at the question and looking at Hooch who gave her a shrug.

“Miss is very funny.” He said, tears streaking down from his eyes, he wiped them away with the socks on his hands. “No, we have good food here miss.” He said turning back to the table and pulling the cover from the tray with a dramatic flourish that sent on of the socks on his ears slipping almost off.

“Wow, is that all for lunch?” Jack asked looking at the tray, there were two plates. One had a large portion of meat on it with potatoes and brown gravy, the other had a long piece of soft looking bread topped with what she hoped was cream cheese and two large sections of smoked salmon. Dobby laughed again.

“It’s almost supper miss,” he said gesturing at the plates and suddenly frowning, his large eyes looking even bigger, “Dobby hopes there’s something here that miss likes, he can get the kitchens-” Jack put a hand out on instinct letting it land on the elf’s shoulder.

“No, it’s fine Dobby. I’m sure I’ll love it, and you can call me Jack.” She said, still smiling. She was certainly hungry enough. The elf beamed at her.

“Dobby can bring up pudding as well miss Jack? Madam Hooch didn’t ask-” he said looking hopefully at Jack whose eyes widened hopefully. Hooch rolled her eyes.

“That’s quite all right Dobby-” she started.

“Dobby do you have something….maybe just a little sweet?” Jack asked, hoping the honest delight at the elf’s question was shining through the tired on her face. The elf grinned ear to ear.

“Dobby can find something Miss Jack,” he said cheerfully, tucking the tray cover under the table and disappearing from sight with a faint ‘pop’ noise. Hooch stared at her from behind the desk.

“I thought you didn’t like british sweets?” Hooch asked pushing a chair closer to the table with a flick of her wand and moving to it.

“Never underestimate a House Elf,” Jack said with a shrug, taking back her seat on the sofa and looking up at Hooch.

“What?” Hooch asked settling into the chair and reaching for the silverware.

“Which one’s mine?’ Jack asked eyeing the steak then looking up at Hooch.

“Don’t do that. It’s unbecoming.” Hooch said, her eyes narrowing just a little.

“What?’ Jack asked forcing a smirk and looking back at the steak.

“The kicked puppy eyes, the steak is mine.” Hooch said reaching for the plate.

“Really, are you ever going to learn to share?” Jack and Hooch both turned to look at the, Jack realized still open door. Professor McGonagall was standing in the doorframe, looking just as tired as the last time she’d seen her in Dumbledore’s office the week before.

“I don’t have to share there’s a whole other-“ Hooch began, McGonagall crossed to the table in two strides and plucked the salmon from the tray, gesturing at Jack to shift on the couch, she took a seat on her left. Jack found herself shifting really more than was probably necessary as McGonagall took a dainty bite of the sandwich and closed her eyes.

“Not anymore,” she said after swallowing and opening her eyes to examine the sandwich for a better angle of attack.

“You just help yourself then.” Hooch said with a scowl, pulling her wand and turning the tray lid to another plate with a faint ‘pop’ sound. Jack held the new plate out as Hooch cut the steak into two pieces, not quite equal in truth and gave Jack the smaller side.

“So,” McGonagall said after half of the sandwich was gone, “I trust you’ve come to your senses since last week.” She said, pausing to take another bite. Hooch looked up from her plate. Jack had demolished the steak, she’d never eaten that much that fast, and was starting to work on the potatoes and gravy.

“It’s not like I have another option,” she said, setting her mouth into a frown at the question, all relief from her own thoughts had popped out of the room with Dobby. 

“Right but now that you know a bit more I trust it’s a less…terrifying prospect?” Minerva said, finishing the small corner of sandwich that was left.

“Actually…” Hooch said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, “I had expected us to explain the plan when we got to the cottage.” She looked pointedly at McGonagall. The other woman raised an eyebrow in surprise then looked at Jack, swallowing the last of the sandwich as she turned.

“She still hasn’t told you anything?” she asked, her voice rising in shock. Jack shook her head and then stuffed her mouth full of potato to save having to respond.

“Well, the train will be leaving in a few minutes, so it doesn’t seem there’s time now.” McGonagall said with a pointed look at Hooch. Jack smiled a little to herself, being trapped in the castle had been maddening. 

“I agree, we’re packed I assume?” Hooch replied, looking for all the world as if she hadn’t noticed her wife’s obvious annoyance.

“Yes, Argus was kind enough to put the bags on a carriage and Rosmerta said she’d send Wallace to fetch them when they reach the village.” McGonagall said, setting the plate that had held the salmon back onto the tray. 

Jack scowled, she’d been wearing the same jeans and sweatshirt for a week, and though she’d been able to wash them they were starting to become decidedly uncomfortable. At least in the village she’d be able to pick up some clothes, maybe even a stash of decent junk food or some books. The added promise of questions being answered was enough to make her ready to burst her skin. Hooch was looking at her, clearly amused at something and Jack decided she couldn’t let that stand.

“Isn’t he the one you threatened to ‘end’?” Jack asked with a smirk at Hooch. Hooch grinned.  
“Yes and I’d suggest you not take that as an example, seeing as he’ll be in on your little secret come September,” McGonagall said, frowning at Hooch.

There was a loud shriek, the whistle of the train, outside the window and Jack put her silverware down.

“Time to go?” she asked.

“Someone asked for dessert.” Hooch said with a smirk. Jack let her knife drop to the tray with a defiant clatter as Dobby popped triumphantly back into the room and all three women turned to the elf. He was carrying the largest bowl of ice cream she’d ever seen chocolate bars of every description jutting out from every angle like a confectionary hedgehog. Jack smiled through the wince.

“Thanks Dobby that’s very…very sweet of you.” She said, as Hooch smiled even wider.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack breathed deep as they walked through the double doors of the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. There was no one around. McGonagall had mentioned offhandedly as they descended the stairs that most of the staff had departed earlier in the day—just herself and the other heads of house had stayed to supervise the students departure. Jack was glad of it. the fewer people she had to lie to before she knew what the lie was to be, the better.

As they exited the courtyard the wide path ahead of them branched off in three directions. Jack followed Hooch and McGonagall down the right fork, towards the sloping hill Jack had watched so often from Hooch’s tower window. There was a vast forest in the distance and on their right, she knew as they descended the slope, would be a large deep looking lake.

“We’re going to make this quite quick Min, yeah?” Hooch murmured to the taller woman as they began their descent. Jack was listening but to be honest more interested in the breeze on her cheek than anything else. A full week indoors would be nothing short of torture without the added stresses of fleeing one’s country or finding oneself branded. The ache for her broom grew fiercer with every step and every glance at the clear blue sky, dotted with small puffy grey clouds.

“Quick as we can, but for my sake can you not be rude today?” McGonagall replied. Jack barely tried to conceal her snigger at Hooch’s back, and she was rewarded with a withering glare for her lack of effort.

“It’s not my manners I’m concerned with.” Hooch said, turning back to McGonagall and giving a sharp nod over her shoulder.

“I’m not rude,” Jack said, sincerely affronted at the accusation. Both women stopped and turned on their heels to face her, they said nothing, just looked at her as if she’d just knocked a priceless vase to a stone floor.

“I’m not!” Jack said squirming a little in the silence, “I’m American, you’re all just stuffy.” She said, moving to push past them. Hooch stepped in her path.

“Of course, you’re the portrait of new world refinement and grace. But as long as we’re discussing, it and since I don’t want Minerva to have to hex you again, I think we should take a moment to discuss something,” she said, crossing her arms and glancing over her shoulder as if looking for spies. Jack paused, her face hardening, she crossed her arms in a mirror image of Hooch.

“You do this weird thing all the time where you want me to do something, but instead of just asking me to do the thing you insult me first. Did you know you did that?” she asked. For just a moment, Jack thought she caught the smallest twinge of a smile on McGonagall’s face before she turned to inspect a brick of stone in the castle’s outer wall. Hooch did not look at all amused.

“Did you know you have all the tact of a drunken bludger, and I am actually trying to prevent you from hurting the feelings of a very dear friend?” Hooch was still frowning. Jack paused for a moment, then smiled.

“The dear friend you want to spend as little time with as possible? Does he have a hunchback? Wandering eye? Uncontrollable flatulence?” Jack asked letting her grin grow wider as Hooch’s face reddened. “Is he part troll?”

Jack’s smile faded as both Hooch and McGonagall went stony faced.

“Is that a yes?” Jack asked wincing a little at the prospect. Hooch scowled.

“Giant actually, half and you-“ she said stepping forward and jabbing a finger into Jack’s collarbone, “will be respectful, grateful and largely silent do you understand?” she asked looking deathly serious. Jack froze, the bony tip of Hooch’s finger was poised for another punctuating jab if she said the wrong thing here.

“From a place of logistical curiosity…” she began, Hooch jabbed her with her finger, Jack flinched stepping back and putting a hand to her chest.

“Just tell me the giant was his mother! I mean sweet Mrs. Leeds the other option is horrifying!” Jack snapped, her eyes narrowing at Hooch.

Hooch rolled her eyes and turned to continue down the hill. McGonagall gave Jack an appraising look before gesturing her to follow. “Tomorrow is Question Day?” she asked as Jack passed her.

“Yeah,” Jack said over her shoulder as McGonagall moved to catch up.

“That should be entertaining,” She said with a prim smile. “I don’t suppose you’d consider warning me the next time you’re going to try to push her into apoplexy?” the prim smile widened just the slightest bit and Jack returned it.

“Why did she say I should be grateful?” Jack asked, nodding at Hooch’s back as they rounded the corner of the castle. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t miss a thing do you?” she asked, Jack shook her head.

“Dumbledore asked Rubeus to help arrange for your things to be sent over. He was most eager to help.” She said with a pointed look.

Jack gave a weak smile. “I don’t suppose one of those things was my broom?” she asked hopefully. McGonagall shook her head.

“Quidditch players.” She muttered under her breath as she swept down the path ahead of Jack. 

“I can’t tell if you disapprove of me or if you’re saying no.” Jack called to her back. 

“Always assume the former.” McGonagall said over her shoulder. 

_That’s not a no._ Jack thought, letting a relieved grin spread across her face and glancing back at the cloudy but still welcoming sky and letting herself fantasize for a moment of taking her Warhead for a spin through the valley before it got dark. 

“All your things have been brought to the cottage already. Almost…” Hooch called over her shoulder, McGonagall sniffed loudly in response.

“What does almost mean?” Jack asked, panic rising in her throat at the possibility of a very important item having been left on the other side of the Atlantic. Her broom was obviously the most pressing issue but there were many things in the apartment she shared with Keysha and Sadie that could have been forgotten in their haste to forward her things, or ignored because it was too impractical to send them. _Lucky you’re getting anything at all._

“It means…we have to discuss something is all. You may not be famous here, but if your parents are looking for you we’ll need to be careful of advertising distinctive possessions,” McGonagall said as they crested the final little hill between the castle and the merrily pluming smoke of what Jack assumed to be the little hut’s chimney.

“Uh excuse me, but I am famous everywhere.” Jack said, looking intently at the little building at the base of the sweeping lawn. There was a large garden patch on the side of it, inside the fences there was something small and horse like gamboling unsteadily around nascent pumpkins. _No freakin’ way._

“Minerva, had you ever heard of her before last week?” Hooch asked with a derisive snort. Minerva sighed.

“I hadn’t no,” she said, clearly annoyed at the question, though not nearly so annoyed as Jack. She had made quite a splash her rookie year, she had worked hard to be good, entertaining and memorable all at once and she’d been rewarded for that effort with the task of constantly reminding witches and wizards in Brooklyn, that she was sixteen and could neither drink nor date thirty somethings, at least when Myra was at the same bar.

“I-“ Jack began, distracted from her anger when the horseish thing in the pumpkin patch took a jump and then flapped two small underdeveloped black wings. _NO FREAKIN’ WAY!_

“I’ll have you know that Professor McGonagall is the most obsessive fan of Quidditch I have ever encountered. If she does not know who you are neither will anyone else.” Hooch said, “Furthermore I think you’d find yourself a second rate celebrity at Hogwarts in any case.”

“Excuse me-“ Jack began, veering off the trodden path watching the horse thing do it’s little jump again.

“You are excused, I remember distinctly my second year in the league having a very overinflated view of myself…” Hooch began.

“Excuse me-“ Jack tried again with a bit more urgency, this time Hooch gave a disapproving snort before steamrolling her.

“…it served me poorly. Made me complacent, superior and utterly insufferable to be around-“ she continued as they at long last reached the bottom of the hill, Jack was still part ways up it, trying to get a better look at the thing in the pumpkin patch from a safe distance.

“You know you’re speaking in the past tense now?” McGonagall said, not bothering to mutter it. Jack rolled her eyes, it was as if Jack were invisible.

“Hey old broads!” Jack shouted. There was a moment, when both women had stopped moving that Jack thought the tactic had worked. When both then turned on their heels, fixing Jack with a steely, silent glare, she had to reassess that impression.

“Broads?” McGonagall asked, her voice rising just a bit toward shrill. Jack felt the red creep onto her face as Hooch crossed her arms.

“Is this 1926?” she asked thin lipped and clearly unamused.

“Would someone like to tell me why your gamekeeper has a baby thestral running around his pumpkin patch?” she asked ignoring the blush in her cheeks and the frigid stares she was getting, “That’s not a cute euphemism by the way.” She said pointing towards the patch in question, now only a dozen or so yards from where they stood. McGonagall’s face changed instantly the anger was gone, her face was calm, softer.

“This is a school Miss McCubbin, we keep specimens of many magical creatures on the grounds for study.” She said, ignoring the pointed look that Hooch was giving her.

“They pull the school carriages as well.” Hooch said, acknowledging the rebuff with a curt nod and turning back to Jack.

“You have TAME thestrals?” Jack asked, trying to keep a grin from her face. She’d seen one once two years ago at a menagerie in Philadelphia and had been instantly smitten. The ones in the menagerie had been wild caught and extremely timid, she’d had to peer around the barriers and other patrons for over ten minutes just to get a glimpse of it through the thickly forested habitat they had built.

“I wouldn’t call ‘em tame quite.” there was a grumbling chuckle off to their right and Jack turned to see a gigantic man with a large bushy black beard and small dark eyes come around the corner of the hut, he was holding a tin pail and what appeared to be a handful of skinned rabbits.

“Ah Rubeus, lovely timing.” Hooch said turning and changing her frown to a smile in one deft spin. McGonagall brightened up as well, her face creasing into a genuine grin at the sight of the gamekeeper.

Jack for her part was utterly flummoxed by the bigness of Hagrid. She had expected the height thanks to Hooch’s timely if tactless warning and she had been expecting a larger than normal frame to go along with it. Her expectations had utterly failed to predict the reality of this man who was not only larger than normal but seemingly too large to be possible. The tin pail he’d been carrying was large enough for Jack to sit in comfortably and she had no doubt that if Rubeus Hagrid ever wished to; he could quite easily pluck her from the ground like a daisy and throw her one handed.

“Morning Xiomara, Professor,” Hagrid said clapping his great hands together to dislodge some of the dirt. “Just saw the train off, bless ‘em the poor kids is all still upset.” There was a slight hitch in Hagrid’s low rumbling voice.

“Well we all are of course, it’s a terrible thing Rubeus,” McGonagall said stepping down to meet the giant halfway on the little path to his hut.

“Poor Cedric, poor ‘Arry. I’m all twisted up and I weren’t even there really,” Hagrid said sadly, his big shaggy head bowing ever so slightly as McGonagall patted him on the shoulder.

“Yes, of course it’s a terrible tragedy. But stiff upper lip as always Hagrid. We’ve been through this before and we’ll make it through again,” Hooch said, softer than Jack was expecting. “We just wanted to stop and say thank you for all your hard work this past week, and to say goodbye, hopefully for only a short while.” She followed. _That’s more like it._

“Awful nice of the two of you to come see me off, should be leaving tomorrow if Olympe can manage the trip back in time,” He said, nodding sagely. Jack cleared her throat, barely audible behind McGonagall’s back.

“Oh of course you must be Jack,” Hagrid said, looking up from his boots and extending a gigantic grubby hand in her direction. Jack smiled weakly and reached out to shake it. Hagrid’s palm easily enveloped her entire fist, and he shook it gently.

“Hello,” she said, pausing as Hooch nodded emphatically at her behind the giant’s back, “Hoo-, Madam Hooch said you got some things from home for me. Thank you.” She said, stumbling over the words and casting glances at Hooch who was watching her closely.

“Oh it weren’t no trouble, yer friend, forget her name, nice girl, short hair, spoke a bit funny—was real neat with the details she was.” Hagrid said looking pensive. Jack smiled.

“Sadie?” she asked, looking hopefully at Hagrid, if Sadie had been in charge of getting her things than she wouldn’t want for much.

“Sounds right. One of the best shrinking charms I’ve seen,” He said with a laugh. McGonagall smiled.

“Good to know the American schools are good for something.” Hooch said with a smirk, “Now Hagrid, where is it?” she asked. Jack looked from Hooch to Hagrid, who frowned and rolled his eyes.

“Probably still pesterin’ the heck out of the foal in the pen there. Keeps swooping down on ‘im makin’ ‘im all anxious like,” he said pointing at the baby thestral who was, for the moment standing perfectly still and staring at the peak of Hagrid’s straw roof. Jack followed its gaze and a rush of joy flooded through her for the first time in a week.

“MACHA!” Jack shouted, breaking into a run and utterly ignoring the startled looks on Hooch and McGonagall’s faces.

The crow was perched primly on the corner of the straw roof of the hut, she clicked her beak angrily at the sudden noise and fluffed her wings as Jack reached the spot on the grass directly beneath her. She was sleek and large, about the size of a small cat, and Jack held out her fist expectantly.

“Come on, Macha.” Jack said smiling broadly at the bird and waving her down. Macha riffled her feathers again and turned her back pointedly on her owner.

“Don’t be like that, I had no choice.” Jack said, conscious of the whine in her voice. There was a small angry piece of normal life on that roof, and she was going to get her to acknowledge her. Macha gave only a short disapproving ‘ka’ in response.

“I would’ve gotten you if there was time,” Jack said, feeling a little desperate. She had never imagined that Sadie would send Macha, if nothing else Loretta had been trying to ‘steal’ her for over a year now.

“I’ll get you a nice big spider from the village,” Jack said, trying to make her tone sweet and inviting. Normally at the mention of her favorite treat, the crow would bounce and caw happily. This time she just flapped her wings and hopped once towards the roof of the hut.

“She like rabbit?” Hagrid asked holding up one of the skinned ones he’d been carrying, he had a wide smile on his face, and Jack returned it.

“She eats anything slower than her,” Jack said. Hagrid twisted a leg off the rabbit he was holding and tossed it to Jack who held it up, giving it a little wave in the air.

“I’m suing for peace here,” Jack said, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth at the end, a sure signal to the crow that she wanted her attention. Macha half turned and stretched her wings, looking intently at the bit of meat in her owner’s hand. She hesitated, and Jack shook the leg again before Macha hopped from the roof and glided a little clumsily to Jack’s arm. 

“See you still like-ow!” Macha had hopped up to her shoulder and nipped her ear sharply with her beak before walking down to Jack’s wrist and tearing a hunk of rabbit from the bone.

Hagrid let out a hearty laugh and stepped over to the pen where the baby thestral had been standing expectantly, warily watching its tormenter be tempted down from her perch.

“ ‘ere ya go.” Hagrid said tossing what was left of the rabbit over the fence, the thestral foal set upon it at once, holding the carcass down with a hoof so it could tear bits of meat away by shaking it’s head.

“I can’t believe they sent her. I mean, I hoped they would, but-“ Jack began turning towards Hooch and McGonagall who were both frowning. Jack stopped. “This is the thing we need to talk about, isn’t it?” she said quietly, stroking Macha’s feathers with her other hand and unconsciously taking a step backward. Hooch sighed.

“She’s…very distinctive Jack. Not many wizards keep crows in Britain.” She said stepping forward and for once clearly trying to keep her voice in a gentle register. McGonagall stepped up on her left.

“The Macnairs, in particular are known for it,” she said pointedly. Hagrid grunted angrily at the name, and Jack turned in his direction. He was dumping the contents of the tin pail, which seemed largely to be blood, into a small trough just on the inside of the fence. The thestral looked up for just a moment then decided he was more interested in what little remained of the rabbit.

“I mean, I don’t need to send her out for mail or anything. She can just stay in…wherever I’m staying.” Jack said. Macha had demolished most of the rabbit leg and was starting to champ happily on the bone.

“Technically speaking crows are not allowed at Hogwarts.” McGonagall said gently, giving Jack a weak conciliatory smile. Hooch snorted.

“Technically, we’re trying to hide you and should therefore try to avoid having things about your person that practically chant your mothers surname,” She said, the gentle tone was gone. Jack felt her chest starting to tighten, red creeping into her face.

“If you’re trying to hide me why are you insisting that I be in a castle with literally hundreds of other people? I mean I really don’t see how Macha is going to be the biggest flaw in this plan.” She said, trying to keep her voice even and failing.

“Because you will be safe there, if they figure out who you are or not.” Hooch snapped. “It will be dangerous, and I refuse to let you endanger other students over a bird. We are talking about the possibility of Death Eaters trying to break into Hogwarts to come get you.” She said, gesturing at Macha and earning an angry beak click from the crow before she turned back to the rabbit bone and tried to pull it from Jack’s tightened fist.

“No one seemed ter mind the philosopher’s stone.” Hagrid said, not looking up from the thestral who was currently trying to tug a second rabbit out of Hagrid’s monstrous hand. “Or lettin’ ‘Arry come back ter school when we thought Sirius Black was tryin’ ter murder ‘im.” Hagrid looked at McGonagall like he was about to apologize.

“This is-“ McGonagall began, but then stopped, “I don’t think-“ she tried again.

“Bloody hell Hagrid, it’s a bird!” Hooch shouted, pointing again at Macha who had managed to liberate the rabbit bone and was now holding it in her beak sideways, like a dog with a rawhide.

“It’s ‘er bird.” Hagrid said, sounding sulky, “an’ she’s alone in a strange place, I think she ought ter ‘ave it.” he said, turning back to the thestral and blushing deeply. Jack would have kissed him if she thought she could reach.

“I agree with Hagrid.” Jack said, looking at McGonagall, who looked to be doing complex equations in her head. Judging by the thin line of a frown on her face, deepening by the moment, the answers were disappointing.

“Minerva, say something!” Hooch snapped, too angry to form the words herself. McGonagall paused for a moment, then stepped to the side of the thestral pen and plucked a scrap of rabbit that the Thestral had missed off of the grass. She lifted it gingerly between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand and held it out towards Jack.

Macha dropped her rabbit leg and with a quick hop and a flap was on the Deputy Headmistresses arm and happily tearing into the small bit of meat. Jack gave a brief bark of protest, unsure what McGonagall meant to do to her pet, but she was quickly shushed. McGonagall stared at the crow for a moment. Then looking up at Jack, pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at Macha.

“WAIT!” Jack shouted rushing forward and fumbling in her pocket for her own wand, a cold spike of fear running down her spine. Macha was too concerned with the rabbit even to look up.

“Exuberus!” McGonagall said, giving the wand a sharp flick of the wrist. Macha started to swell. Slowly growing larger and thicker.

“What are you doing?!” Jack had run into Hooch, moving to intercept her, the older witch catching her about the waist and stopping all forward momentum. Jack was utterly helpless even as McGonagall held her wand up again and muttered something she didn’t catch.

“I thought you passed your equivalency?” Hooch said, she was clutching a fistful of Jack’s sweatshirt. “You ought to know that spell.” She said releasing her hold on the fabric and letting Jack gain the distance between her and her pet at last. 

McGonagall was stroking Macha’s feathers, turning her beak with a finger and examining her closely. “I think she’ll make a passable Raven, don’t you?” she asked, poking Macha under the wing and smiling when the bird stretched them. Jack’s crow was now the size of a hawk.

“She’s quite heavy now, I think you’ll have to let her ride on your shoulder from now on.” McGonagall said, holding her arm out and giving Macha a little push until the bird hopped onto Jack, walking up to her shoulder and settling her weight there. Jack stared at Macha for a moment, she seemed to be perfectly fine.

“Minerva this was not the plan.” Hooch said quietly.

“No it wasn’t.” McGonagall said. “But it’s a clever little thing, and she’s clearly very fond of it so I see no reason not to alter the plan.” She finished.

“Thank you again Rubeus, if you have time before you leave, you know you’re always welcome for tea.” McGonagall had turned to Hagrid, who bowed his head slightly in thanks, his hands were covered in blood and raw rabbit.

“Don’ think we’ll have the time tomorrow, but thank you Professor,” He said with a weak smile.

“Hagrid be careful please,” McGonagall said, putting a hand lightly on his arm and smiling at him. Hagrid blushed a deep purple and nodded, seemingly at a loss for words at the gesture.

“You, say thank you,” Hooch said, nudging Jack with her elbow. Jack still frantically scanning Macha for so much as a feather out of place, nodded and obediently blurted out a sincere if garbled thank you to the game keeper who grinned at her.

“Bigger’s always better in my opinion anyways,” He said with a nod at Macha. Jack actually laughed, if a little nervously as Macha tried out her newly thickened beak on the hood of Jack’s shirt.

“Cheers Hagrid, thanks again. Do be careful out there won’t you?” Hooch said stepping towards the giant and extending a hand. Hagrid hesitated looking at the filth on his palm. Hooch reached out and took it anyway, shaking it in both of hers before turning to McGonagall.

“Best we get home before dark eh? I expect the three of us will want to unpack before bed,” she said, pointing up the path towards the village. McGonagall gave her a curt nod in return and gestured Jack to follow her. Jack hesitated for a moment, turning back towards Hagrid.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked, stepping towards the pen and grinning despite herself at the thestral, who was playing with the remains of the first rabbit, throwing the bones into the air and flapping after them.

“Morvarch, Professor Dumbledore suggested it. no idea what it means.” Hagrid said patting the boards of the fence, Morvarch, assuming more food was forthcoming dropped the rabbit carcass and trotted over eagerly.

“You want to pet ‘im? He’s quite gentle really.” Hagrid said as Morvarch reached the fence and looked up at the gamekeeper expectantly, his mouth already open in anticipation, the sharp fangs inside making him look like he was smiling.

“How do you keep them from attacking the school owls?” Jack asked, reaching a hand out and putting it gently on the top of the foal’s head. The skin was smooth and cool to the touch, so thin she could trace every ridge of its skull. The little bit of mane that was growing was thick and shimmery like strands of black silk, and she let it run through her fingers with a widening smile. Macha gave a short ‘ka’ of disapproval and the thestral snapped its jaws at the crow in response.

“Fer starters, I don’t usually set mad crows on ‘em this young,” Hagrid said with a grin. “But they’re dead clever creatures, can train ‘em to do just about anythin’.”

“Crows are like that too,” Jack said with an eyeroll and a nod at Macha, who was fluffing her feathers out to look as big as possible, with her new girth this was far more impressive than usual.

“Crows are too clever for their own good,” Hagrid said, reaching a bloody palm out to Macha who pecked at it gently, investigating the possibility of more rabbit before fluffing her wings again.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” Jack said, stroking down the thestral’s snout and finally giving it a goodbye pat. “I hope whatever you’re doing goes well.” 

Hagrid smiled. “Just goin’ ter see my folks is all. Rowdy lot they are too, never met a problem they couldn’t punch their way out of,” he said.

“Sun is setting,” Hooch called from up the path. Jack rolled her eyes.

“Can I come with you?” she asked. Hagrid laughed.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The walk to the village had been mostly silent apart from the occasional caw from Macha who had happily flown above them the entire way, and the occasional curse from Hooch when Macha swooped in low at her head.

Hogsmeade was just as cozy looking as it had been a week ago and this time Jack was much relieved to know that she got to stay. The sun was nearly down completely by the time they had passed through the main part of the village, all shops and tea rooms shuttered for the evening though the local pub seemed to be doing brisk business. Jack had stared at the welcoming lights, and her mouth had watered at the smells of cooking food wafting into the street from the door, propped open to allow passage of the cool summer night breeze.

Their destination was a small cottage not quite at the edge of the little town. It looked neatly cared for despite its owners’ long absence, the smell of lilac and roses wafting pleasantly through the air as they passed through the little gate. McGonagall reached into her robes for a large brass key. 

“Now there are a few ground rules of course,” Hooch said as McGonagall fitted the key into the lock.

“Which we will discuss in the morning. Tonight a quick bite to eat and then bed I think Xiomara,” she said at a brisk clip as the door opened and McGonagall waved her wand at a nearby lamp, setting it ablaze instantly and filling the small sitting room with light. 

Jack walked eagerly past a clearly displeased Hooch and into the house. It was homey, if a bit dated looking, the plushy couches and large well weathered cushioned chairs looked good enough to sink into immediately. Macha hopped instantly off of Jack’s shoulder and flapped her way to the exposed beams running just beneath the ceiling cawing happily and hopping from one to the next giving herself a tour.

“Kitchen through there, and the washroom is just there if you want to scrub up. Rosmerta sent over some things from the grocer I believe. Xio if you wouldn’t mind seeing to that?” McGonagall said, taking the cloak from around her shoulders and hanging it on a peg. Hooch did the same and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

“I’m on the couch?” Jack asked looking at the big overstuffed sofa in front of the fireplace and wondering if McGonagall would object to her removing maybe six or so of the throw pillows.

“You are not, we turned the attic into a bedroom, you’ll be up there.” She said, stepping protectively towards her sitting room furniture and shooting a little fire ball from the tip of her wand into the grate. Jack frowned.

“You didn’t have to-“ she began.

“We did it years ago, you’re not the first wayward teenager to find their way here,” she said with a small, satisfied smile at the fire that was now burning merrily in the fireplace. “You tend to collect them when you’re a teacher.”

“So what? You just don’t like cats?” Jack asked, giving a short laugh at her own joke and stifling it when McGonagall fixed her with a stern look, though Jack thought there might be just a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“I’m rather fond of them actually,” she said, the smile turned out to be quite real as it spread into a full-grown smirk. “Luckily for your bird we don’t have any at the moment,” McGonagall paused, the smile fading into a pensive look, “Which reminds me I really should take care of the mouse problem in the garden shed this summer. Well then, why don’t I show you your room? Since Merlin knows it’ll take her a half hour to make sandwiches.”

Jack, unsure if she was comfortable with such a talkative McGonagall nodded her assent and followed after the older witch into the hall to a small stairway. The second floor was really just a hallway ending in a door, there were three low long tables along one wall, they were covered with Quidditch trophies one of which caught Jack’s eye immediately. It was a smaller version of the league cup Hooch had been raising in triumph on the wall above Jack’s desk for most of her childhood.

“Oh crap, that isn’t!” Jack rushed to the table staring in open awe of the large golden snitch suspended in the middle of the miniature hoop, its wings fluttering madly though it stayed hovering in the perfect center.

“It is, and watch your language,” McGonagall said, raising her wand towards the ceiling and drawing down a folding wooden ladder.

“Sorry it’s just, can I touch it?” Jack asked, looking up at McGonagall with fervent hope.

“Maybe after we eat, you’ll have to ask her anyway. Though I don’t think you’ll have much trouble getting her to talk about it,” McGonagall said with a smile. “Up we go then.” 

Jack frowned, glancing back at the cup with longing before following McGonagall up the ladder minding the slightly crooked steps and the ominous sounding creak at the folding joints.

“Watch your head here.” Jack heard from above her as McGonagall stepped off the ladder and lit another lamp. Jack it turned out, being almost a foot shorter than the witch ahead of her, didn’t have to duck. 

“It’s small, but it’s temporary, and there’s a window there if you want to let your crow out.” McGonagall said, stepping towards the full bed beneath said window and smoothing down a corner on the quilt. Jack looked around the attic, her traveling trunk was tucked neatly in a corner of the room, presumably full of her shrunken belongings. There was a desk against the sloped wall on the far side of the room and a dresser on the other, there was even a small cushy chair and a reading lamp on her right flanked by a tall bookshelf, already full to excess. It was quite comfortable looking and not at all dusty as she would have expected an attic to be. 

“I just ask if you’re a night owl that you save the calisthenics till after the sun is up, our room is just beneath you,” McGonagall said, straightening up and looking to Jack for acknowledgment.

“Uh…sure I mean, this is…nice actually,” Jack said giving McGonagall a smile as she continued to look around. “And,” she started, “Thank you, for being….well for being nice to me, I know this isn’t exactly convenient,” she said the blush starting to creep onto her cheeks again.

“It’s not nearly as inconvenient as Xio’s been making it out to be either.” McGonagall said with a knowing look. “She’s been a bit rough with you this week?” It wasn’t, Jack thought, truly a question but she shrugged her shoulders anyway.

“It was fine, I mean—I have to admit, whenever I thought about meeting her, I’d always assumed she would like me but-“ Jack felt an uncomfortable tightness in the back of her throat and stopped. McGonagall crossed her arms.

“She’s been awful, I’m sure, but if it makes you feel any better at all, that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t like you. Frankly it’s probably just the opposite.” The knowing look had softened into an exasperated smile that Jack returned.

“You’re a chaser right?” McGonagall asked moving towards the trunk and pulling a thick, very long, very familiar shaped parcel from behind it, Jack beamed as McGonagall turned and handed her the broomstick. Jack thought for a moment, that it would be rude to tear into the paper now, that she should wait, but she practically ached to trim the twigs, or polish the handle or even just to look at it, smell the varnish, run her fingers over the nameplate just above the grip and she beat back her better instincts with little more than a moment’s hesitation. 

When the paper had been torn off the Warhead gleamed in the bright orange lamplight, the blackened ash handle seemed to ripple along with the flames, and Jack could have cried it was so beautiful.

“Yeah, I’m a chaser,” She said, grinning ear to ear as she turned the broom over. It had fared well on the trip, only two or three twigs were bent at the tips, easy enough to fix, not ten minutes worth of work, but she would pull out the polish and a cloth, go over the whole thing, maybe shine up the stirrups while she was at it.

“So is she, as I’m sure you know,” McGonagall said with a pointed nod at the ladder. “You know the thing about Chasers, is that they don’t know how to fix a problem they can’t tackle or dodge; the only way to win is to attack. You stick a new bunch of Chasers together and you just have a mess of rabid Nifflers all trying to grab the same shiny thing. That’s a beautiful broom, may I?” 

Jack obediently, though with some reservations, handed the broom over to McGonagall who held it horizontally, balanced on the palms of her hands. “Keepers on the other hand,” she continued, “their problems come to them, and they have to face them head on. A lot of beginners think they have to always be hitting the quaffle at full speed or should be avoiding bludgers at all costs. But good Keepers know sometimes, if you just tap the quaffle out of the way, or redirect it gently, you’ll get a better result than if you tackle it like a mountain troll. The best Keepers, know what a Chaser is going to do before they do it and prepare accordingly, and know that sometimes, you have to take a bludger to the chest to prevent a score.” McGonagall smiled at the pivoting stirrups and the brass nameplate before handing the broom back to Jack. 

“Chasers have to work together though.” Jack said slightly defensive, “You have to know the other Chasers well enough to trust them.”

“Aye and eventually they do, with time and a bit of effort,” McGonagall said smiling like she was having a quite different conversation.

“Your damn bird is going to eat half your sandwich if you don’t get yourself down here!” the shout came from below them and McGonagall shook her head.

“I married a Chaser,” she said, turning towards the ladder and waving Jack after her.

Jack stared, a little dumbstruck for just a moment before placing the broom lovingly at the foot of the bed and following McGonagall downstairs, when she reached the bottom of the ladder, the step bent and Jack nearly fell into the last long table on her right side. 

The trophies on this table were small plaques mostly, but for two in the middle that clearly read:

HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH CUP CHAMPIONS and then beneath it, slightly smaller:

M. MCGONAGALL- GRYFFINDOR KEEPER 1950.

“Hurry up, before she has some sort of attack.” McGonagall called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. Jack followed, this time with a broad smile on her face.

 

_Author’s note: Profuse apologies for the time between updates but you know…real life stuff._


	4. The Plan

“All right, before we get to the questions,” Hooch began, pulling the mug of tea that McGonagall had set on the table for her in almost to her chest, “I’m going to explain what we think the plan will be. We’ve already spoken to the headmaster and he feels this is the best course of action. “

Jack couldn’t help but notice that Hooch’s voice had gotten just a bit icy at the mention of Dumbledore, but decided for the moment, that the best option was to keep her mouth shut. A full and surprisingly easy night’s sleep in the attic room had left her feeling a little less panicked than she had. Access to her clothes had helped matters even further, and a real-life shower that morning had put her as close to bliss as she could be all things considered. Thus far this morning, the most vexing thing in her life had been trying to wrap her head around cold beans on toast for breakfast, and that was a surprisingly good feeling.

“You will be enrolled in Hogwarts for the fall term, under an alias of course. We felt it would be best if we start using it immediately, give you some time to get used to it before September,” Hooch paused, giving McGonagall a significant look. They were sitting around the table in the cottage’s small kitchen. Jack had never seen one so sparse before, Hooch hadn’t been kidding when she said that neither she nor McGonagall cooked much. Upon inspection that morning Jack had found a grand total of four cooking pots and pans though there was an entire cabinet devoted to banged up pewter cauldrons that Hooch insisted she could repair and a drawer stuffed beyond capacity with Muggle take away menus, some of them for establishments as far away as PARIS. Jack had asked why on earth someone would apparate to Paris for takeout as opposed to apparating to Paris and just eating in PARIS, but had gotten only a mumbled answer from Hooch that sounded suspiciously like “...no sense of humor…banned for life…” and she had dropped the issue.

“Since Hogwarts doesn’t accept international students that often, the only precedent we could find was for relatives of instructors, therefore we will be telling the students and some of the less trustworthy members of staff that you are Professor McGonagall’s niece. Quite conveniently Minerva’s brother Malcolm married an American and moved there so you won’t have to butcher a Scottish accent. Now he has grown children but no one need know that and I doubt anyone will go looking,” Hooch cleared her throat and the pause gave Jack just enough time to have a terrifying thought.

“Where in America?” Jack asked. McGonagall, who had been stirring her tea for longer than truly necessary as she was paying rapt attention to a plan that she had presumably already heard, looked up at Jack with a concerned frown.

“Where what in America?” Hooch asked.

“Where did Malcolm move?” Jack asked again. McGonagall bit her lip and looked towards the ceiling as if trying to pluck the answer from the space above her head.

“Near New York City somewhere I think. I’m not actually sure, he always visits here,” she said. Jack sighed.

“America is a rather large country, and seeing as you’re from a small country with like a thousand different accents, do you see what my problem is?” Jack asked covering her face with her hands. Keysha had spent over an hour once trying to talk Jack through impersonating a southern accent. It had ended badly, Keysha having used the phrase ‘Bless your heart’ something like thirty times.

“Or we could spare everyone a lot of trouble and just say he moved to New England, since anyone checking into his actual whereabouts would surely discover that his children are in their twenties,” Hooch said, pinching the bridge of her nose and shutting her eyes as if she were in physical pain.

“Or that could work.” Jack said with a sheepish grin at her own mug of tea.

“I beg of you, both of you I understand it is just not in your nature but I BEG of you, DO NOT overthink this. The key to a good lie is its simplicity. The more complicated the ruse becomes the more likely you are to be discovered do I make myself clear?” Hooch asked opening just one eye and looking to McGonagall, then Jack and then back to McGonagall, “The fewer things that Jack has to remember, the easier it will be.”

“Except now I’ll have to remember that my brother lives in New England and my niece and nephew don’t exist,” McGonagall said into her mug. Jack nearly spit out the mouthful of tea she had taken and McGonagall gave her a wry smile.

“What was that?” Hooch asked, turning to McGonagall with sincere annoyance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, now get on with the plan.” McGonagall said, giving Jack the same smile again before taking a sip of tea. Jack lifted her mug to her mouth just to keep Hooch from seeing her laugh.

“That, whatever that was, stop that,” Hooch said, turning towards Jack again, “Now- “

“I should think you’d be happy that we’re getting on,” McGonagall said into her teacup, “After all, when you offered to bring me a souvenir from America I had been expecting something a little less talkative.”

If Hooch had a response she chose not to share it, giving her wife a begrudging wave and turning back to Jack. “Now, obviously due to the nature of the ruse your alias will be McGonagall, for reasons I do not fully understand Min-, Professor McGonagall has suggested we allow you to choose your own first name. So, if you’ve been just burning to be a Mafalda your whole life now’s your opportunity.”

McGonagall and Hooch were both looking intently at her over their tea, clearly expecting an immediate answer. Jack swallowed hard, the sedimentary layer of sugar she had added to the strong black tea catching a little in her throat. She’d never thought about it, she liked her name, at least the shortened version and being asked to pick a new one seemed somehow a particularly salacious request.

“I mean if we’re changing my last name,” she began, pausing for a long moment, trying to formulate the argument before she spoke, “…you said it would be easier to remember the simpler it was. Wouldn’t it be simpler for my name to still be Jacqueline?” she asked giving a hopeful look at McGonagall’s face. Their recent closeness inspiring a strong desire to have the Deputy Headmistress on her side at all times.

“It’s not really an alias, is it?” McGonagall asked with a concerned frown, no help there, “I mean, it could still be dangerous, if people go asking after you a particularly hapless informant might mention an American named Jack, even if they don’t think you’re the same person.”

Hooch sniffed, “Entirely right, now surely there has to be some name that isn’t completely abhorrent to you? Something simple, nondescript, utterly forgettable that will keep your parents from finding you,”

Jack looked up, her mouth in a tight frown, glaring directly at Hooch. She couldn’t understand how someone could be so dense. Why they wouldn’t think her name was important, it was her name.

“Until at least, we know where they stand in all this. If they’re involved at all,” McGonagall said delicately. Jack fumed. It wasn’t as if she believed it, neither of them did, they had looked at her arm and decided her parents were monsters and nothing Jack said or did was going to change that. It was entirely possible that nothing her parents said or did could have changed that.

“I can’t pick one,” She said finally, giving in to the desire to say something, anything to break the silence without screaming it into oblivion.

“Shall I assume you wish your nickname to remain suitably masculine?” Hooch asked, arching an eyebrow. Jack nodded but said nothing.

“Well that narrows the list down a little bit, how about Georgina?” Hooch asked, her tone was surprisingly pleasant, even placating but Jack was too concerned with the tea leaves sloshing around in the bottom of her cup to notice it much.

“Why don’t we table that,” McGonagall said. “After all, we have two weeks until the examinations we can certainly afford her a little time to think about it.” She added when Hooch gave her a sour look.

“Examinations?” Jack asked, lifting her eyes from the tea and staring at McGonagall in disbelief.

“Yes, you are enrolled in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we need to know what level of education you have attained so you can be given a class schedule that fits your abilities.” The teacher voice was back, the stern, prim brogue that McGonagall had used the night they met.

“I have my equivalency. I am a registered, fully competent witch. Put me in the highest grade and save everyone a lot of trouble. Or better yet, just leave me here at the cottage and we can skip this little ruse entirely.” Jack said, fighting hard the temptation to grit her teeth.

“Well actually,” Hooch began.

“No. There is no ‘actually’ I passed, with flying colors I might add, an equivalency test that showed conclusively that I possess the required skills and knowledge to carry a wand and to use it,” Jack broke in. Her face was growing hotter by the moment as she put the tea down on the saucer with more force than was truly necessary and crossed her arms over her chest in anticipatory defiance.

Neither Hooch nor McGonagall said anything for a moment, looking at Jack, and then each other. It was clearly a significant look, Hooch broke it after a moment to examine her cuticles and McGonagall sighed deeply before leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table in a decidedly casual way.

“In America.” She said slowly and softly before lifting the teacup to her mouth, she was clearly waiting for some kind of explosion. Jack was tempted to give her one.

“There’s going to be an ‘actually’ isn’t there?” Jack asked, instinctively fingering the grip of her wand sticking out of her jeans pocket.

“It’s more of a ‘but actually,’” McGonagall said, pausing for another sip of tea before continuing, “You are sixteen. You will be seventeen when?” she asked. Jack frowned.

“December.” She said flatly staring at McGonagall in what she hoped dearly was a way that made the other woman uncomfortable.

“You my dear, can only practice magic outside the walls of Hogwarts if we inform the Ministry of Magic who you are and provide them with a record of that equivalency. Now since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will certainly have spies in the Ministry I hope you can see why that is not an option. As for leaving you at the cottage, I am afraid that quite defeats the purpose of bringing you here at all. In the last war, Hogsmeade was raided regularly for targets He-Who Must-Not-Be-Named. This time will be no different, you will be safer at Hogwarts,” McGonagall did not look the least bit uncomfortable.

“If we’re making up a new identity for me anyway, why not just make my birthday tomorrow, I mean hell why not just make me twenty-two?” Jack asked throwing her hands up in exasperation. If she was going to have to lie why couldn’t the lie make sense?  
“Bloody Ravenclaw.” Hooch muttered, leaning her forehead against the heel of her palm.

“The trace is not so easily fooled, I believe they have something similar in your country for those too young to perform magic unsupervised?” McGonagall asked.

Jack’s face burned, there was. She’d had to provide three signed copies of her equivalency results to get it lifted and demonstrate that the wand used was her own, and that it obeyed her. “If Hogsmeade gets raided regularly, then why bring me here? Wouldn’t it be safer for me to hide in my own country?” Jack asked, the blush receding a bit at what she felt at least was a solid rebuttal.

“No, it wouldn’t. I meant it, Hogwarts is the safest place for you. I will be there, Xiomara will be there not to say anything of the dozen other teachers and Albus Dumbledore. You shouldn’t have to face this alone, and I don’t intend to let you.” McGonagall hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, or raised her voice. Jack almost wished that she had. She had explained it as one would to a particularly dense child who was having a tantrum, calm and slow. Jack could feel the tightness in her chest building again. A sure sign of imminent tears and she reached for the mug of tea to choke them down.

“I’m not some toddler, I can defend myself.” She said finally, after gulping down enough of the sweet milky tea to convince herself that the danger of crying had passed.

“No,” Hooch said, in very much the same tone that McGonagall had used, “you aren’t, and sadly I am quite sure that at some point you will have to defend yourself. But being sixteen does not make you an adult either. Which means it is our job, as adults to protect you.”

Jack felt the tight feeling moving up her throat and she slammed the mug down on the table, sloshing the dregs in the bottom enough to earn a few tiny droplets spilled on the wood. “Seventeen, right? That’s when I’m an adult in six freakin’ months! So, after that I can leave if I want to? Assuming I don’t just run off when you’re not looking?” Jack had intended her voice to match theirs, give them a little of their condescending tone right back. It hadn’t worked that way, her voice had taken on a foreign high pitch and cracked in places, a decidedly undignified showing.

“My dear girl, if you so much as disappear for fifteen full minutes Death Eaters will be the very least of your concerns.” McGonagall said firmly waving her wand at the spilled tea without even giving it a glance. Jack’s eyes darted to Hooch’s face, then McGonagall’s still staring at her stonily.

“Well- “Jack started, searching for words, for an argument that wasn’t coming. She’d had a full week to prepare, had every thought, every flaw in what she’d known about this ridiculous arrangement laid out neatly in her mind and suddenly none of it was there for the live show. “What exactly do you think is going to happen if they DO find me?” she asked, pleased with herself for the idea. She hadn’t actually had an opportunity to ask that the night Hooch had taken her from New York and had been denied the opportunity to ask any questions since.

“Which scenario would you like first?” Hooch asked, annoyance clear on her face, there had been no hesitation, no thought at all, “The one where your parents are murderers but still love their baby girl? Or the one where they’re murderers and aren’t all that attached to you? I’ve never found Death Eaters to be particularly devoted parents but if you want the sugar-coated version I’ll give it to you.”

McGonagall sucked air in through her teeth, shutting her eyes as if struck by a sudden headache.

Jack opened her mouth, trying to scream at her, she could feel the pulse in her temples clearer than she could make out the texture of the table. It wasn’t that the words weren’t there it was that she was physically incapable of forcing them past her lips. _You stupid frigid bitch!_

__“Jack,” McGonagall said, opening her eyes, the stony expression was still there, all but the eyes—they had been glinting steel just a moment ago but now they were softer, tired looking, even a little sad, “You’ve been missing for a week. Your teammates have not heard from them. Miss Tonks has, on my instructions graciously been keeping an eye on international reports. Any missing persons matching your description and she hasn’t heard a single thing. In a week,” McGonagall paused, staring at Jack, the steel creeping back into her eyes at the corners, “you’re a clever thing, tell me what you think that means.”_ _

__The pounding in her head hadn’t quite left, but whatever strange force was keeping her jaw from moving seemed to have passed. Jack knew what McGonagall wanted her to say. She knew exactly what she meant. The first day at Hogwarts, Jack had started to wonder when Hooch was going to come into the office, announce that it had all been a massive episode of paranoia and she could return to her life. The second day she had wondered how long someone had to be absent before an investigation by the Aurors Agency was triggered. By the third day she was wondering if they simply hadn’t noticed. By the fifth…_ _

__“Jack,” Hooch said sharply. Jack shook her head, unsure how long she had been sitting there, not answering McGonagall’s question._ _

__“What if he has them? What if they wouldn’t go to him and he’s hurting them? Or they’re hiding? There’s a million explanations- “Jack said, forcing a smirk onto her face and hoping dearly that it looked genuine. Hooch sighed, putting her head in her hands and Jack didn’t bother to finish the thought._ _

__“Jack, you are not the only person we know with Death Eaters for parents. A number of our students have family that narrowly missed time in Azkaban,” Hooch said raising her eyes from the table, they’d taken on that same tired quality that McGonagall’s had developed, “You are the only one, that I know of with that mark. You weren’t even born in this country and you still have it. I doubt very much that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named graced them with a visit. Which means they crossed an ocean, and risked exposure in their homeland, where he was not in power, to put that on you.”_ _

__Jack was silent, working through the scenarios in her head. There were numerous explanations but none that seemed especially probable or convincing. Perhaps her Uncle had forced her mother to do it, or her mother had been duped in some way but that wasn’t really likely was it. her mother had moved to America to be with her father, that’s what they’d always told her, well that and that Scotland was desperately boring but what if there was another reason?_ _

__“What if she was trying to get away? I mean she immigrated and my father’s rich but wouldn’t a better reason be escaping her family? Like you did with me?” Jack asked, fully aware of how desperate the question sounded but not caring at all. Hooch shut her eyes in exasperation and Jack felt a sudden urge, a desperate need to hammer the point home, as if their reticence to believe her were based more on some failure of hers to communicate than just a small mountain of evidence to the contrary._ _

__“Ok maybe they signed up, but that was probably before he started murdering people! My parents aren’t killers I mean maybe they were running away, maybe the Dark Lord- “Jack stopped, both of the women across from her had suddenly looked up with interest._ _

__“What did you call him?” Hooch asked, her face stone set and pale._ _

__Jack had been rambling, not thinking about what came out of her mouth, just desperate to posit a theory, any theory that didn’t involve her parents committing atrocities, she hadn’t been paying attention and there was that phrase, the phrase that under no circumstances was she to say outside the house. When she was nine she had slipped, she had slipped in front of that woman from Misery Islands Academy when she’d come to assess her ability. The finest school of magic in New England, her father’s alma mater and she had slipped._ _

__“I-I- “Jack stammered, she’d been asked what she knew about the history of magic. Whether her parents had taught her anything about the ‘unpleasantness over seas’ the interviewer had been very interested about her mother, because of the accent. Jack had said her mother didn’t talk much about the Dark Lord. Father had been so angry that he-_ _

__“Jack.” McGonagall said, her hand coming to rest very slowly over Jack’s own, it was clenched in a tight fist._ _

__“It doesn’t matter.” Jack said, for lack of another response, her brain wasn’t working quite right._ _

__“It does.” Hooch said flatly, there was no malice in it, but no warmth either and Jack stiffened even further. They were going to be angry with her, that thought came in crystal clear, though at the moment Jack wasn’t sure which ‘they’ it was referring to._ _

__“I think we should stop for now.” McGonagall said, turning to Hooch. Hooch gave that dismissive wave again. Jack slumped in her chair, staring at the last of her mug of tea._ _

__“I’m going to go see to the garden shed.” McGonagall said, she looked at the clock above the kitchen sink, it had no numbers on it, only the phases of the moon, “Shall we say lunch at one o’clock?”_ _

__Hooch nodded._ _

__“Jack,” McGonagall said, releasing her hand and reaching into a pocket on her robes, “Why don’t you go into the village, I noticed a distinct lack of quills and parchment in your things and you’ll be needing them for the exams.” She put four large gold coins on the table, Jack looked at them, still not quite focused enough to follow the implication._ _

__“Was I the only one who heard her threaten to run away just now?” Hooch asked, smacking her forehead in disbelief._ _

__“She’s not going to get terribly far on four galleons.” McGonagall said. Jack, who since the change of subject had slowly been returning to conscious thought. She looked down at the coins on the table and pushed them back towards McGonagall._ _

__“You don’t have to, I have money.” She said, this was true Sadie had sent her a small bag of everything she’d had in the apartment on top of the usual coin purse she carried. All told she had about 200 Dragots to her name, the rest was stored safely in the New World’s Vault in America._ _

__“You have American money, and until we can get it exchanged, which will require a trip to London, Merlin preserve me, you will have to make do with my charity,” McGonagall smirked as she pushed the coins back towards Jack._ _

__“We don’t know if it’s safe for her to go unaccompanied.” Hooch said, her voice tense with annoyance._ _

__“Then accompany her. You know I adore you my love, but I admit, that love is greatly aided by your occasional absence,” McGonagall said, standing, then stooping to kiss Hooch briefly on the forehead._ _

__Hooch for her part rolled her eyes and stood from the table, “Let’s go then,” She said gesturing for Jack to stand. Jack looked at McGonagall, hoping for a reprieve. If she had to be supervised she was sure she knew which half of this happy couple she would have preferred to have along._ _

__“Don’t forget my money,” Hooch said, stepping past the table and out into the sitting room. Jack reached for the coins._ _

__“MY money, at best OUR money, and need I remind you I make more of it?” McGonagall called to her wife’s back as Jack tucked the four gold coins into the pocket of her jeans._ _

__“Do I have to?” Jack asked, looking from the sitting room to McGonagall and then back._ _

__“You won’t be skimming off my stores I can promise you that,” McGonagall said with a knowing look and a nod that told Jack clearly that she had been dismissed._ _

__“The shops do not stay open in perpetuity.” Hooch called from the sitting room. Jack rolled her eyes._ _

__“It’s not even lunch time.” She said turning and following Hooch towards the door._ _

__“I suppose it’s too early to stop at the Broomsticks then.” Hooch muttered as she reached for the handle.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………._ _

__Jack and Hooch had been traveling in silence for five minutes before they hit the village proper. It was just as inviting during the day, if a little less obviously magical. The shops in quaint thatched cottages gave off an old-world charm that the wizarding villages of New England had tried to emulate, Jack had always assumed successfully until now. It was tranquil and quiet, which was just what Jack needed at the moment. Hooch for her part seemed content to walk along slightly ahead of her, jangling something in her robe pocket and giving off an air of supreme ease that Jack found obnoxious._ _

__Jack, still in muggle street clothes, felt out of place as the denizens of Hogsmeade strolled lazily around her in robes of every color. Jack had never quite gotten used to wearing robes out of the house, and apart from longer stays in a wizards only town on the cape, she had rarely been allowed to. In truth, Jack had rarely been allowed out of the house; there was little need for her to go anywhere._ _

__“You look deep in thought,” Hooch said, glancing over her shoulder. Jack scowled in response as they passed a fork in the street, the other branch lost its cobblestones a short distance from the fork and turned to muddy track._ _

__“After all that you didn’t ask any questions,” Hooch said, slowing down just the slightest bit to allow Jack to catch her up. Jack walked slower, keeping the distance as best she could._ _

__“I asked loads of questions, not that you had an answer for any of them.” Jack replied. Hooch sighed._ _

__“How long are you going to play the petulant teenager exactly?” Hooch asked slowing down again. Since Jack’s only other option was to stop moving entirely, she allowed the quidditch mistress to fall in alongside her._ _

__“I thought my twentieth birthday seemed like a good time,” Jack said through gritted teeth. Why McGonagall had insisted they do this was beyond her, as if they hadn’t had enough time together over the kitchen table._ _

__“See the sarcasm is fine, I respect that, it’s the sulking that’s making me want to strap you to a broomstick and point it west,” Hooch said pointing across the street at a shop whose windows were stuffed to the gills with books, parchment and ink wells._ _

__“You wouldn’t have to tie me down, I’m more than willing to go home. I didn’t ask you to bring me here in the first place,” Jack said, injecting all the venom she could muster, “I hit my head, woke up and got whisked out of the country before I could register what was happening,” Jack replied crossing to where Hooch had pointed._ _

__“You seem to have artfully forgotten why you hit your head,” Hooch said, the ease had gone out of her voice as she reached for the door handle on the shop and gestured Jack inside._ _

__“I remember. I just don’t think that proves anything,” Jack said, taking a moment to register the sheer volume of material inside the shop. There were no neatly ordered shelves, at least not that she could see. If there had ever been any kind of rhyme or reason to this place it had been long obscured by piles and piles of teetering books, stacked chest high on every conceivable inch of floor space save the narrow ‘aisles’ carved into their mass forming a rough circle around the place. Jack loved books, but was instantly overwhelmed with a kind of existential panic that she could not possibly, in a month look through every stack or consider every option looming shakily before her._ _

__“You going in?” Hooch asked, stepping past her and ducking down the first narrow canyon between the stacks heading towards a corner stuffed with rolled lengths of parchment paper, wrapped neatly with ribbon and bearing tags with their price and length. Jack followed after her, at once veering away from the stacks as best she could manage and trying to restrain herself from rifling through them one after another._ _

__“I should think for exams you should be fine with three meters and three quills, do you have any preference for color?” Hooch said, reaching for a roll and passing it to Jack, before reaching up to a jam jar stuffed full of feathers of all descriptions, “They have some crow here if you’d like.”_ _

__Jack was still staring blankly at the piles of books, not entirely hearing Hooch’s question, she nodded dumbly at her and three black feather quills were thrust into her hand with the roll of parchment._ _

__“They used to allow you to use any ink you’d like but I believe they require black now, so no opportunities for expression there I’m afraid.” Two bottles of black ink were thrust at Jack with as little ceremony as the rest, finally forcing her to bring her other hand into play, it had been hovering dangerously close to a volume on transfigurative properties of fungi._ _

__“Well then, that’s that.” Hooch said with finality turning to Jack and pointing at each item in her arms in turn._ _

__“What subjects?” Jack asked, the word ‘exam’ having finally reached a part of her brain that was functioning normally._ _

__“What’s that?” Hooch asked, already two steps down another winding trail, this one headed towards an ancient looking shopkeeper perched behind an impossibly tiny desk at the far end of the shop. Jack couldn’t be certain, he was too far away, but she thought he might be asleep._ _

__“Subjects? You know, classes, which exams am I taking?” she asked, the panic rising in her voice. This whole thing was uncannily like the dreams she’d had before her equivalency, the ones where she arrived at the exam without quills…or pants._ _

__Hooch stared at her for a moment, seemingly deep in thought._ _

__“Honestly that was more Min-Professor McGonagall’s area, but I suppose at a minimum it will be Transfiguration, Potions, Charms…Defense, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and probably History of Magic. If you have a particular interest in any electives, now would be the time to mention it to her.” Hooch said, looking at Jack with a wry smile on her face, “You worried?” she asked looking intently at Jack’s face, trying to find some betrayal of panic there. Jack was certain she would find it easily._ _

__“No, I’m just unprepared,” Jack said, looking around the shop, “I don’t have gloves for Herbology, a cauldron or anything else for potions, I’m assuming you mean British History of Magic which I was never taught and I have no books to try to crash study for it,” Jack’s voice had gotten frighteningly high as the list grew and Hooch’s wry smile broadened into an honest grin._ _

__“We’ll have all that at the cottage, not to worry we’re well stocked and as far as History of Magic goes…you could do with some humility,” Hooch said gesturing Jack up the aisle ahead of her. Jack scowled but followed instructions._ _

__“You know, those altogether might be a Galleon,” Hooch said from behind her._ _

__“So?” Jack asked glancing over her shoulder while trying not to send the entire store toppling over._ _

__“So, I believe you have four and if you wanted to look through the books, it isn’t as if we have somewhere to be,” Hooch said teasingly gesturing at the precarious tomes._ _

__Jack paused looking at the books and wondering how long it could take to pore through just the stacks in the center. After all, if she was going to be stuck here for at least the summer she could get quite a bit of reading done. Keysha and Sadie had been constant distractions, always wanting to be out and exploring the city. Jack’s insistence on spending as much time curled up on her bed as possible had been an endless source of annoyance to them._ _

__“Let’s just go back.” Jack said after a moment of longingly staring at a large volume on rearing Hippogriffs, it wasn’t worth the extra time spent alone with Hooch. She pushed forwards to the desk before Hooch could reply, startling the old wizard behind the desk when she set the purchases down._ _

__“That’ll be one galleon and three knuts dear.” He said after pawing through the items Jack got stuck on ‘ka-nuts’ for just a moment, Sadie had showed her a movie..._ _

__“Ahem,” The ancient wizard said. Jack flushed, reaching into her pocket for two of the large golden coins._ _

__“I’ve got three knuts.” Hooch said behind her, her robes jangled again and she placed three bronze coins on the desk as Jack finally managed to fumble a gold one out of her jean pocket._ _

__“That’s more than I wanted to ka-now about you,” Jack said as the coin landed on the desk. She froze, that wasn’t supposed to make it out of her mouth._ _

__The ancient wizard broke into a wheezing laugh as he collected the items Hooch had selected and placed them gingerly in a paper sack. Jack turned to look at Hooch already wincing to apologize. Hooch stared at her, arms crossed, eyebrows raised so high they were practically at her hairline._ _

__“I’m telling her.” Hooch said reaching for the bag and tucking it under her arm, “See whose side she’s on then.”_ _

__The old wizard waggled one threadbare eyebrow at Jack as she gathered the bag and turned, wincing, to follow Hooch out of the shop._ _

__“It wasn’t that bad,” Jack said, tucking the unwieldy parcel beneath her arm and stopping in the middle of the cobbled street next to Hooch who seemed to be looking for something on the other side. Jack turned to go right, to head back to the cottage. Whatever Hooch was looking for Jack wasn’t interested. She hadn’t given up extra time with all of those lovely books to spend time with Hooch in the absence of books._ _

__“Take your wand out.” Hooch said turning to her. Jack froze. The joke was immature sure but it didn’t seem worth dueling over._ _

__“I thought you said I couldn’t use mag- “Jack began, Hooch shook her head and held out her hand._ _

__“You can’t I just want to see it.” Hooch said, cupping her fingers in a ‘give it here’ gesture. Jack hesitated, just for a moment before reaching around to her back pocket to pull the wand out. It was six inches of dark ash, bruised and nicked in places._ _

__“This looks far too old to be yours.” Hooch said taking the wand from her by the handle, an intricately carved crow’s head._ _

__“I don’t have the original packaging if that’s what you’re asking,” Jack said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “It was my grandfather’s.” she finished when Hooch looked up, clearly unamused at her little joke._ _

__“Your mother’s father I take it?” Hooch asked. Jack nodded, she’d never met him. But on her eleventh birthday, her mother had presented her with his wand wrapped lovingly in a strip of black and green tartan and made it clear that if Jack ever lost it she would wish she’d never laid eyes on it._ _

__“I- “Hooch began, then paused. For a long moment, she stared at the wand then looked up, her face softer than Jack had seen it yet._ _

__“No.” Jack said, snatching the wand out of Hooch’s hand and tucking it safely back into her pocket._ _

__“You don’t have to get rid of it.” Hooch said, raising her palms towards Jack who had instinctively taken two steps backward, “But you can’t use that thing at Hogwarts, you can’t be seen with it. It’s good as a name tag.”_ _

__“No one is going to see this thing and immediately think ‘Oh she’s a Macnair’ no one is going to think that, who looks at someone else’s wand that closely?” Jack asked, taking another step back and keeping a grip on the crow’s head as if it were the only floating thing in a vast ocean._ _

__“The child of a Death Eater, told to be on the lookout for someone about their own age, about yea high, obnoxious, excellent flyer?” Hooch said waving her hands in exasperation, “They may not be looking for you yet. They may never, but if they do…” Hooch finished gesturing at Jack’s right hand, still tucked securely behind her back, gripping the ash handle of the only wand she’d ever used. The only wand she’d ever been allowed to touch. The one she learned on, the one that-_ _

__“It’s-it’s- “Jack stammered, the hand clutching the new bag of supplies was trembling. That tight feeling in her chest had returned making it hard to breathe and suddenly the rather pleasantly cool summer morning felt like Arizona in the height of August. _Shit not right now not right now in public not right now not right now not right now… _____

____The hard to breathe turned quickly into a complete lack of air. Her chest felt like it would burst, every nerve and vein in her body was on fire at once and the all too familiar feeling that she was about to pass out was overwhelming any sense of the reality that she was standing in a crowded street._ _ _ _

____“Come on, come on, out of the street.” Hooch said, her eyes going wide, before grabbing Jack by the elbow and leading her into an alley. It wasn’t that Hogsmeade was exactly bustling with activity but it wasn’t empty either and Hooch clearly would prefer her to have her panic attack in private._ _ _ _

____“I know, I know, I know you don’t think I do, but I know.” Hooch said, easing Jack’s back to a stone wall and placing a hand on either shoulder. “Just breathe, breathing good, think of a pithy come back later, I’ll make change again and have a ridiculous number of knuts.” Hooch said slowly in a calm voice. Jack tried to force a smile, but it fell apart as she tried to gasp for more air to laugh at what was admittedly a pretty weak joke._ _ _ _

____“Breathing, breathing only.” Hooch said, taking the parcel from her and setting it on the stones at their feet. Jack, leaning against the stone wall, lost the strength in her legs and slid gracelessly down it until she was sitting._ _ _ _

____“All right, that’s better, just breathe slowly and give me your wrist please.” Hooch said, Jack didn’t so much give her, her wrist as allow it to be taken. Hooch held two fingers to Jack’s pulse point, watching her wristwatch for what seemed an eternity. Jack was trying to do as Hooch told her, she really was, but every time her breathing seemed more manageable, the thought of her wand being taken away from her came back and the progress she’d made towards ending the attack vanished._ _ _ _

____“You’re all right,” Hooch said, setting Jack’s wrist on her knee and keeping the two fingers pressed firmly to it. “Breathe in,” Jack did as she was told, “Hold” Hooch drummed the finger of her free hand against Jack’s arm four times, “Release…good, it’s in for four, hold for four, release for four, I’ll keep count, shut your eyes, lean back against the stone If you have to.”_ _ _ _

____Jack, at a loss for options, did as she was told. It was stupid, there was no way it was this easy. When she’d been a child the attacks had lasted hours. ‘Fits of nerves’ her father had called them, the remedy was time. Lots and lots of time sometimes they lasted hours. Jack had read every book on healing in her parents rather prodigious library and not a single method for dispelling the attack was found. Except for Pliny the Pretentious who had suggested covering the nose and mouth with molasses because ‘if you can’t cure it, join it.’ Then when she’d moved in with Keysha and Sadie, they’d stopped, Jack hadn’t had one in over a year she was supposed to have grown out of them, at least that’s what her mother had said when she’d mentioned their sudden disappearance._ _ _ _

____“two…three…four…pulse is down already that’s good…two…three…. four…hold…two…three…four,” Hooch said, snapping Jack back to the present. She’d been doing the breathing, she wasn’t sure how long. She shut her eyes again, trying to keep her mind blank, the tightness in her chest was fading, she could breathe easier, she started counting following along with Hooch whose voice was getting softer…_ _ _ _

____“Ok, open,” Hooch said releasing her hold on Jack’s wrist. Jack opened her eyes, the lids felt heavy like she’d been asleep though she knew, or was at least reasonably sure that she hadn’t._ _ _ _

____“Better?” Hooch asked, she was, she really was, her breath was slow and deep and even, the panic was gone, the tightness was gone and the early summer day was pleasantly breezy again, particularly in the shaded alley._ _ _ _

____“Good,” Hooch said standing and holding a hand out to Jack who took it and let herself be pulled up from the stone._ _ _ _

____“How did you do that?” Jack asked, reaching down for the parcel at her feet. Hooch smirked._ _ _ _

____“I’ve had lots of practice,” Hooch said, the smirk turning into a kind smile. Jack frowned, confused._ _ _ _

____“When everyone you know is under constant threat, people sometimes can’t cope with that.” Hooch said, looking at Jack’s face curiously. Jack cleared her throat._ _ _ _

____“My mother always said I was just nervous,” she said, trying to meet Hooch’s eyes._ _ _ _

____“It never occurred to her to find out why?” Hooch asked, nodding to herself, the inspection complete. She was apparently satisfied that the attack had passed._ _ _ _

____“There wasn’t anything, it just happens sometimes, “Jack said, feeling her face flush again at the implication._ _ _ _

____“It’s never nothing, even when you don’t know what it is it’s never nothing,” Hooch said, reaching out to take the parcel from Jack’s arms. Jack looked up, expecting Hooch to continue, she was interested now._ _ _ _

____“Before we go on,” Hooch said after a moment. “I want you to understand something,”_ _ _ _

____Jack nodded,_ _ _ _

____“I’m a Slytherin, do you know what that means?” Hooch asked, Jack shook her head._ _ _ _

____“Slytherins are ambitious, cunning, they can be manipulative and ruthless. They are also almost entirely pure blood. I am a muggleborn, at least I think I am,” Hooch said frowning._ _ _ _

____“So not that popular at school?” Jack asked with a weak grin. Hooch frowned, her eyebrow rising again in challenge._ _ _ _

____“I was good at Quidditch and quick with a wand I did just fine,” she said. Jack shrugged in apology._ _ _ _

____“What I was trying to say is that I didn’t have a lot of friends but the ones I had were very close, especially the Slytherins. There were five people in my house that I would have died for. Once a Slytherin decides you’re their friend it’s very hard to end that friendship even if you want to,” Hooch paused, swallowing hard, her shoulders, normally stiffly square were hunched forward, she looked smaller, Jack knew intellectually that they were almost the same height Jack was maybe half an inch shorter, but the difference to this point had felt more like three feet._ _ _ _

____“All of them died in the last war, four of them were Death Eaters, two of them I killed myself,” Hooch said, her face still placidly calm. Jack’s eyes went wide, her thoughts turning immediately to the Banshees, what if she had ever had to…_ _ _ _

____“I’m not trying to shock you, or scare you I just want you to understand that I do know what it feels like. To have someone you care for, deeply, do something so horrible that you have to protect yourself from them; that you have to protect other people from them and all the while you’re hoping you’re wrong or they’ll come to their senses, but I’m telling you that most of the time they don’t,” Hooch said to the ground, her face still calm, she looked up to Jack, her face was drawn, there was no anger in it._ _ _ _

____“I know it’s hard to hear but you have to function as if it’s absolute truth while hoping that it isn’t. That’s the only way to survive, you understand?” Hooch asked, looking hopefully at Jack’s face for any sign of acknowledgment. Jack nodded, chewing her lip._ _ _ _

____“What happened to the fifth one?” Jack asked, cocking an eyebrow, hoping to change the topic to something happier. She could no longer stand the numbness on Hooch’s face._ _ _ _

____“One of the others killed her,” Hooch said with no hesitation. Jack winced._ _ _ _

____“She tried to tell me, that they were as bad as everyone said, I didn’t believe her,” Hooch said flatly. Jack opened her eyes, trying to think of something to say._ _ _ _

____“Come on then, Ollivanders is just up the street. You’ll need some time to get used to the new one before your exams.” Hooch said nodding up the alley back towards the high street. Jack nodded shakily back, letting Hooch go ahead of her._ _ _ _

____“Look at it this way, hopefully you’ll get a longer one,” Hooch said with a bark of a laugh. Jack held up, her mouth falling open in shock._ _ _ _

____“What’s wrong with the one I’ve got?” she asked scurrying forward to pull even with Hooch as she turned onto the high street and, finding what she was looking for made for the shop._ _ _ _

____“Nothing dear, length doesn’t matter of course,” Hooch said smirking. Jack’s brow furrowed in anger._ _ _ _

____“No, it doesn’t in fact there are several treatises on wand lore that heavily imply- “Jack began._ _ _ _

____“That their authors had small wands,” Hooch said, chuckling to herself as they reached the door of a shop, the sign above it was fashioned in the shape of a wand, inscribed upon it were the words ‘Ollivanders- Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C’_ _ _ _

____“After you,” Hooch said, holding the door open for her. Jack went, scowling at this latest insult._ _ _ _

____“Morning dear!” a cheery voice called from above Jack’s head as she entered the shop. Jack looked up to see an older witch with a thin face surrounded by bushy grey curls looking down on her from a crossbeam. She was balanced quite precariously, arms full of long wand boxes. The eaves of the little shop were stuffed with similar boxes. Jack couldn’t be sure if there was or was not a backroom._ _ _ _

____“Morning Genevieve.” Hooch called back as she closed the door behind her, setting the little bell tied to the handle to ringing._ _ _ _

____“Oh Xio! Term’s over then?” Genevieve called back, setting the wand boxes crossways on the beam and sliding herself off and onto the shop counter, “Is it lunch yet? I could do with an ale.” She said holding a hand out to Jack, who after a moment’s hesitation understood the old woman’s meaning and held out her own to steady her as she hopped spryly from the countertop to the floor._ _ _ _

____“It’s only ten Gen, little early for me,” Hooch said with a smirk, “Here on business actually this is…” Hooch paused. Clearly just now remembering that they had not in fact settled on an alias that morning._ _ _ _

____“Jack.” Jack said with a broad grin, Genevieve turned Jack’s steadying hand by the wrist and shook it warmly._ _ _ _

____“Jacqueline, Minerva’s niece.” Hooch growled. Jack beamed at her. She may have lost on the wand, but the look on Hooch’s face at this more important victory almost made up for it._ _ _ _

____“Oh, are you one of Malcolm’s?” Genevieve asked smiling at Jack, “I have to admit I always had a little crush on your father dashing he was in his day.” She said with a conspiratorial shove of Jack’s shoulder. Jack grinned and tried to look disgusted at the thought._ _ _ _

____“He’s a bit young for you Gen,” Hooch said stepping towards the counter and patting Genevieve on the shoulder as she went._ _ _ _

____“Yes, but tall as an oak and almost as thick.” The witch said with a hoarse, rumbling laugh. Jack’s smile was becoming a little fixed._ _ _ _

____“Business Gen, remember?” Hooch asked leaning against the counter, and idly reaching for the pipe in her robes, face still a mask of barely concealed fury. The attack in the street was almost forgotten, such was Jack’s joy._ _ _ _

____“Right, right.” The old witch said, “Break your wand again Xio?” she asked leaning against the counter. Hooch who was actively reaming the bowl of her pipe. Looked up with eyes narrowed._ _ _ _

____“Not me!” she hissed, “The girl Gen.”_ _ _ _

____Genevieve held up her palms in apology before turning to Jack. “Well dear, is it repair or new?” she asked. Jack hesitated for a moment, she knew of course what the answer was, she just wasn’t sure she was ready to say it aloud._ _ _ _

____“New Gen, she went and lost the old one.” Hooch muttered around the stem of her pipe. Genevieve sighed._ _ _ _

____“Young people these days, I can’t believe.” She said, shaking her great nest of curls and looking at Jack as if she’d been told the younger witch enjoyed stepping on dog tails._ _ _ _

____“I keep telling you I didn’t lose it,” Jack said through gritted teeth, “It was TAKEN.”_ _ _ _

____Hooch grinned at her through a plume of sweet smelling smoke that was quickly inuring itself into every corner of the tiny shop. Genevieve turned towards the shelves behind the counter and Jack took the opportunity to flip Hooch off._ _ _ _

____“Now then dear, what was your old one? Maybe we have something similar that’ll take eh?” Genevieve asked, summoning a rolling ladder from the end of the counter and stepping on the bottom rung._ _ _ _

____“Uh,” Jack said, suddenly self-conscious, “Ash and Unicorn hair.” She said._ _ _ _

____“Six inches.” Hooch said, and with her back to Genevieve, flipped Jack off._ _ _ _

____“Well, I hope we can do better than that. Was it an Ollivanders’ dear?” Genevieve asked, looking stricken and hastily climbing the ladder in search of a remedy._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know,” Jack said, though it probably was, “It was inherited!” she shouted, too quickly to not sound desperate._ _ _ _

____“Ah, well that’s better than, bit of a dull student I’d wager to this point eh? We’ll change that.” Genevieve said. Hooch did not bother to contain her laughter._ _ _ _

____“I’m not dull.” Jack said flatly, trying not to sound overly rude but clearly offended._ _ _ _

____“No of course not dear but that’s a stubborn stick you’ve been using,” Genevieve said, pulling a box from the shelf and dropping it unceremoniously to the counter next to Hooch, she started pulling another but stopped suddenly, pushing it back. “Ash doesn’t like switching owners and Unicorn Hair’s almost as stubborn as your auntie here.” she said, pulling another box and dropping it with its twin._ _ _ _

____“Right or left dear?” she asked, her hand on a box._ _ _ _

____“Right.” Jack said, stretching the fingers of her right hand._ _ _ _

____Genevieve released her hold on the box and pulled the one on its left instead. “All right love, why don’t you give this one a try first, Yew and unicorn hair nine inches.” She tossed the box to Jack who caught it with some apprehension. She’d never so much as held her own parents’ wands. She looked at Hooch who only shrugged at her in response._ _ _ _

____Jack opened the box, the wand inside was a beautiful grey wood, twisted like a unicorn horn in a perfect spiral. Genevieve dropped from the ladder holding five more boxes, as Jack reached into the box for the wand, the old witch began arranging the next ones in some kind of order on the counter in front of her._ _ _ _

____“Go on then.” Genevieve said. Jack raised the yew wand and gave it a sharp flick. A small tendril of smoke whipped out of the tip and smack into Hooch’s face._ _ _ _

____“Not bad, I think we can do better.” Genevieve said, snatching the wand out of Jack’s hand and replacing it with another box, “Hawthorn and Unicorn Hair seven and a half inches a little wobbly on the back.”_ _ _ _

____Jack opened the box on the Hawthorn wand, no sooner had she placed a finger on it then it began shaking violently._ _ _ _

____“NO, that’s a hard no, all right then, I think the unicorn doesn’t care for you much, let’s see…” Genevieve said pulling the box out of Jack’s hand with alarm and sweeping two of the other boxes to the floor._ _ _ _

____“All-right this then, Fir and Dragon Heart string just like your auntie Min, ten inches.” Another box was thrust into Jack’s hands. Hooch groaned._ _ _ _

____“Oh, sweet merciful Merlin please not another one….” She moaned into her own smoke._ _ _ _

____Jack took the wand out and waved it, thick sooty smoke this time, again directly at Hooch who coughed dramatically and waved it away._ _ _ _

____“No that’s not right, think the Dragon likes you though, that’s interesting…” Genevieve said reaching for another box, “Here we are dear let’s try a Sycamore with Dragon Heartstring thirteen and a half inches… what’s yours again Xio ten and a quarter?”_ _ _ _

____Jack whistled, looking at Hooch pointedly. Hooch scowled. Jack removed the wand from the box, it was a deep brown, handsome thing that curved attractively at the grip. She gave it a hopeful wave and a small flame like the last blush of a dying candle flickered briefly on its tip and then died._ _ _ _

____“Not quite,” Genevieve said, pulling the wand roughly from Jack’s hand, Jack frowned a little, that one had felt the best yet._ _ _ _

____“Let’s try….” The old witch began, shuffling the boxes in front of her, “….this one, Holly ten inches, phoenix feather core…” she thrust the box at Jack who took it, pulling the top off and looking at the wand inside, she paused a moment._ _ _ _

____“No,” she said pushing the box back at Genevieve, it felt wrong._ _ _ _

____“Oh are we a master wandmaker now? Know your wandlore do we?” Genevieve asked, arching an eyebrow and crossing her arms._ _ _ _

____“Move along Gen,” Hooch said, puffing on the pipe and waving a hand. The old witch sniffed indignantly._ _ _ _

____“Allright then miss fussy britches…” she said turning behind her and gesticulating wildly with a finger, searching for something. She found it and stood on tiptoe to pull a long black box from a high shelf._ _ _ _

____“Got a little fight in you? Try this on for size, blackthorn with dragon heartstring ten and a quarter inches. Could stop a herd of elephants with one stunner if it likes you.” She said, grinning at Jack the way Keysha did when she was playing a particularly nasty trick on someone. Jack frowned, taking the box from her and pulling the lid off slowly._ _ _ _

____The wand inside was long and sharp looking, almost blade like in a dark almost black wood. The grip was purest black with silver lines etched into it. The very end curving back on itself in the shape of a thorn. Jack lifted the wand out of the box, the thorn end curling around the bottom edge of her hand cupping it snugly. Her arm felt warm, like it was the only part of her in the sun on a cold day. She looked at the counter, there was a small not quite finished candle in a glass dish, just at Hooch’s right elbow._ _ _ _

____“Incendio!” Jack said quietly pointing the wand at the candle, a bright orange plume of flame shot from its tip engulfing the tiny lump of wax in an instant and making Hooch jump back from the counter about three feet. Jack raised the wand looking at it appraisingly._ _ _ _

____“Was that truly necessary?” Hooch asked, gesturing at the puddle of paraffin that had formerly been the candle, and the blackened patch of counter._ _ _ _

____“That’ll do then.” Genevieve said, her eyebrows having retreated underneath her silver hair, “That’ll be seven galleons dear.”_ _ _ _

____Jack smiled at Hooch. Who swore viciously as she fumbled in her pocket for the correct coins._ _ _ _

____“Mind you be careful with that love, blackthorn doesn’t bond right till it’s been in battle. So unless you’re planning on picking a fight with someone it might act funny for a bit.” Genevieve said, taking the galleons from Hooch and depositing them in a till._ _ _ _

____“Merlin knows with that thing it’ll be a right moron that decides to scrap with you.” She finished shaking her head. Jack looked at Hooch expectantly._ _ _ _

____“Watch it,” she said, scowling as she extinguished the pipe._ _ _ _

____……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………_ _ _ _

____“Well that took longer than I thought it would, forget your way into town my love?”_ _ _ _

____McGonagall’s voice came from the kitchen as Jack pushed the door to the tiny cottage open on its hinge. Hooch had been grumbling irritably since they’d left Ollivanders, complaining intermittently of singed knuckles. Jack hadn’t actually lost contact with the grip of her new wand for the entire walk back._ _ _ _

____“She’s mad!” Hooch shouted back, gesturing to Jack though McGonagall couldn’t see her do it, “Absolutely barking, nearly burned down the entire village.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s nice dear, come here a moment?” McGonagall called back. Jack smirked at Hooch who shook her head in reply and walked into the kitchen. Jack took the sudden quiet to pull the blackthorn wand from her pocket, admiring again the sharpness of it, the weight and balance. She flexed her fingers around the grip, smiling to herself at how snugly it fit._ _ _ _

____Her old wand, was in the new one’s box, tucked up under her arm. Jack looked down at the box. A sudden flash of guilt ruining the moment. Her mother had given her that wand. She’d promised to keep it safe, to never let it be touched by anyone who wasn’t in their family, to carry it always and cherish it as if it were a part of her._ _ _ _

____She’d traded it for a high powered shiny new one at only the slightest urging._ _ _ _

____“Jack.” Hooch said from the doorway. Jack looked up from her hand, Hooch’s face was stony, her voice soft. Whatever she had to say it would not be good._ _ _ _

____“What?” Jack asked._ _ _ _

____“Come in and sit down first.” Hooch said, gesturing to the door behind her. Jack gripped the wand in her hand as tightly as she could stand before nodding and stepping through the doorway. McGonagall was standing, her palms resting on the counter at her back. There was someone sitting with their back to her as she entered the room. Black flowing robes making it almost impossible to work out where they began and the shadow beneath the table ended._ _ _ _

____“Jack this is…” McGonagall paused and the stranger in the chair stood and turned towards her. He was younger, at least younger than Hooch and McGonagall, his thin face dominated by a large hooked nose and small dark eyes._ _ _ _

____“This is Professor Severus Snape, he will be one of your teachers come the fall.” McGonagall finished._ _ _ _

____“Nice to meet you?” Jack asked, extending a hand while taking in the rest of the man in front of her. His hair looked like you could fuel a kerosene lamp on it for two days._ _ _ _

____“I doubt it.” Snape said, it was so soft it was almost a whisper but too deep to miss._ _ _ _

____“Well you said it.” Jack said, looking at Hooch who was hiding a small smile badly._ _ _ _

____“Miss McCubbin, the headmaster asked me to come here to relay some information he thought you would find interesting. Should you like to hear it I can assure you I am entirely unimpressed with whatever passes for witty repartee in America.” Snape said, Jack stared at him._ _ _ _

____“Do you know when you talk your lips never touch your teeth?” she asked._ _ _ _

____“I’m leaving.” Snape said turning to retrieve something from the table._ _ _ _

____“Sev.” Hooch said quietly, nodding at Jack. Snape looked like he’d like to hit her for it. But he turned to McGonagall instead._ _ _ _

____“How much does the girl know?” he asked. McGonagall sighed._ _ _ _

____“Not enough.” McGonagall said. Snape turned back to Jack. His anger turning to visible disgust as he surveyed her._ _ _ _

____“I have news of your parents.” He said. Jack’s heart leapt into her throat._ _ _ _

____“Are they ok?” she asked rushing forward and startling McGonagall so badly she nearly slid off the counter completely._ _ _ _

____“They are fine. However…” Snape said, clearly annoyed at the sudden outburst._ _ _ _

____“However what? Where are they? What happened to them?” Jack asked, her relief giving way to panic at the thought that there was more past ‘they are fine’._ _ _ _

____“We met,” Snape said, his mouth curling into a sneer, “through a mutual acquaintance,” he said extending his left arm and rolling up the sleeve. Jack stared at him, lungs burning such was her desire to scream in his face._ _ _ _

____Her left arm itched and she clapped her hand to it, still clutching her wand in her fingers. As she stared at the mark on Snape’s arm all hope, all sense of calm retreated down her spine like a cold wind._ _ _ _

____“I believe you are familiar with this?” Snape asked with a nasty smile._ _ _ _


	5. Transatlantic Whining

“I don’t suppose Severus, that there’s any way you could be mistaken?” McGonagall asked, setting a mug of something hot in front of Jack and giving her shoulder a light squeeze as she took the chair next to her. Jack stared at the table and said nothing.

“I see no reason to indulge any hope of that Minerva,” Snape said with an altogether unfriendly smile in Jack’s direction. Jack reached for the mug; the mug that morning had been strong black breakfast tea, aromatic and bitter. Now it seemed to be full of hot chocolate.

“Indulge my curiosity then, at least,” Minerva said sharply. Snape sneered at her. Jack, momentarily buoyed by McGonagall’s tone, took a tentative sip of what proved to be, in fact, excellent hot chocolate, if a little too sweet.

“The Dark Lord addressed them by name in my presence. I admit, Minerva, I declined to take a blood sample, and we were ran short on name tags that night,” Snape said, glaring at Hooch as if he were expecting back up from the Quidditch Mistress.

“You’re absolutely sure- “Jack began, raising her eyes to meet Snape’s for the first time since she’d sat down.

“I am absolutely sure, and I will no longer be questioned on this point, particularly by you,” Snape hissed.

“-That they are ok?” Jack finished through gritted teeth, pronouncing every syllable of the question just to be sure he heard it.

Snape paused for a moment, seemingly surprised by the question, “They were fine, when I left,” he said clearly choosing his words carefully.

“Is there any reason to think they would have been harmed afterwards?” Hooch asked, not really looking up. Snape thought for a long moment, too long by far, for Jack’s taste.

“No, I don’t think so. But the Dark Lord was not entirely pleased with them, so I can’t guarantee that,” Snape said, looking at McGonagall, clearly expecting a question.

“Why wasn’t he pleased with them?” Hooch asked, her voice was calm, calculating, her fist pressed to her chin.

“He was expecting a complete set, I believe. I wasn’t privy to the entire conversation but I believe they have been given a deadline for bringing you to him,” Snape said, more to Hooch than anyone else. Jack shifted uncomfortably in the hard, wooden chair.

“Why does he want me?” Jack asked, holding the mug tightly and trying to count to four between thoughts.

“Because you are marked, you are his. Your parents also mentioned your- “Snape smirked, “profession. I’m sure he believes a quidditch player might have some influence over her American friends. Influence and social currency are necessary in other countries for his rule to spread. He must recruit and recruit quickly. The Dark Lord had only modest success in this regard the last time he rose to power, I believe this time he intends to think more uh…” Snape smirked again, nastier this time, “globally.”

Jack felt vaguely nauseous, very much like she had in Hogsmeade, her chest was tightening as she tried to think of something, anything to say. Hooch found the words for her.

“If they fail to deliver?” Hooch asked, though Jack thought she knew the answer already.

“Then other followers will be enlisted to search, ones less…attached.” Snape said with a meaningful look at Hooch. Hooch sighed.

“Maybe,” Jack began looking nervously at Hooch and then gesturing to Snape, “Maybe you should just let me go home, let them find me. I mean, he’s a double- “

“NO,” McGonagall’s voice was so loud that Jack nearly dropped her mug of chocolate. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to put yourself in that kind of danger. No, when they discover you, you will be at Hogwarts, under the utmost protection, and I will hear no more of it,” McGonagall’s face was red with fury and Jack flinched from her gaze even as she geared up for a counter point.

“But if I don’t, people will come looking for me. Which means they’ll check the last place I was seen. They’ll hurt them, the Banshees. They’ll hurt them to find me if I don’t do this.” Jack said, trying to sound calm in the face of McGonagall’s rage. The deputy headmistress’s face softened, if only slightly.

“We’ve already spoken to the Banshees. Dumbledore has offered them protection as well; their families too if it comes to that.” Hooch said.

“They know what they’re doing and they have all of them agreed to keep your secret, at least the ones that know where you are.” McGonagall said, her face still red at the edges.

“Unless you are willing to do the Dark Lord’s bidding girl, you are unfit to be a Death Eater, even only as a ruse. You don’t have the stomach to do what is required and your failure to do as you are told would be equally disastrous for your friends,” Snape droned, pressing his long fingers to his forehead and rubbing as if her existence was giving him a migraine.

“How do you know?” Jack asked, sitting back in the chair and gritting her teeth, “How do you know what I have the stomach for?” She’d been listening to people tell her what she could and could not do all day and whether or not there was any truth to what Snape had said, and there probably was, she’d be damned if she was going to accept that analysis without some pushback.

“If he’s wrong you can pack your things and get out of my house.” Hooch snapped. Snape grinned victoriously at her from behind his curtain of lank hair.

“That’s quite enough,” McGonagall snapped, “from all of you. It was never an option in the first place so move on.”

“I believe I was through Minerva, so if there are no further inane questions, I shall be on my way,” Snape said, rising from his seat and moving towards the door of the kitchen.

“I was not through, Severus,” McGonagall said, standing to block his path. Hooch stepped away from the doorframe, though whether she was showing support for Snape or McGonagall Jack couldn’t really be sure.

“Very well,” Snape murmured gesturing to her to proceed.

“There is the matter of the examinations, I trust Dumbledore informed you of your responsibilities in that regard,” McGonagall said imperiously. Snape sneered at her.

“Yes,” he said coolly, looking at Jack like something he’d like to squash.

“I believe Filius intends to do his assessment this week, when can we expect you?” McGonagall asked, tight lipped and steely eyed again.

“After that. Now, if you’ll excuse me Minerva, I have actual work to do,” Snape said, stepping forward again. For the briefest of moments Jack thought McGonagall might block him again, but she stepped aside.

“Sev.” Hooch said as he passed her.

“Hooch.” He replied, taking the sitting room in two long sweeping strides and disappearing out the front door.

“Well, he seems fun,” Jack said, hunching over the table and pulling the mug of chocolate close.

“We’re going to talk about that later,” Hooch said, touching McGonagall’s shoulder as she eased herself into the chair next to Jack.

“What?” McGonagall asked, her voice rising in challenge. Jack sat back in the chair again, holding the mug up to her mouth.

“You were through, you just didn’t want him to feel like he had the last word,” Hooch said, looking up and meeting McGonagall’s gaze. Jack bit her lip and stared at the table.

“Isn’t self-preservation strongly valued in Slytherin house?” McGonagall asked calmly.

“I wouldn’t put it on a level with Gryffindor contrariness, but it’s encouraged,” Hooch said equally calmly.

“You’re right,” McGonagall said, her eyes narrowing.

“Someone alert the Prophet,” Hooch said with a small smile.

“No, I mean you’re right. We’ll be talking about this later,” McGonagall said taking the seat on Jack’s other side and staring her wife down across the table Hooch did not look alarmed. Both women turned and looked at Jack who felt rather strongly that she would have preferred to watch them argue.

“I’m just saying you didn’t have to- “Hooch began after a moment, Jack’s hopes lifted.

“Do you know what later means, or shall I have to fetch a dictionary?” McGonagall asked. Jack looked back down at her mug.

“See you’re doing it again, right now!” Hooch said a little louder. Jack leaned back in the chair as if dodging physical fire.

“Jack,” McGonagall said, her voice high and strained, “Why don’t you go see about unpacking some of your things, we’ll call you down for supper.”

Hooch threw her hands up in frustration, “Are you sending the girl to her room because you want to have this out?” she asked.

“Can I take the cocoa?” Jack asked McGonagall, who glared reproachfully at Hooch.

“Of course you can, but remember no magic.” McGonagall said, not looking at her. Jack, almost disappointed at the break in the action, stood from the table, careful not to spill the chocolate and made for the stairs.

“As if she doesn’t have enough to think about you’re going to bring her into this?” McGonagall hissed, not quite quietly enough.

“You’re doing it again, already. It’s been two days.” Hooch said flatly. Jack paused on the third step, out of sight of the kitchen. Pressing herself to the wall, she listened closely. If there was anything that Hooch and McGonagall weren’t telling her, now might be the time to find it out.

“Doing what?” McGonagall asked, no longer bothering to lower her voice.

“Coddling her, you do it with all of them, every one we’ve ever let stay here you- “Hooch began, Jack heard an authoritative ‘thump’ on the ancient wooden table. Jack stood perfectly still, listening her forehead furrowed. She hadn’t expected the fight to be about her. She wondered what they would do if she just went back into the kitchen, if she could stop them arguing but reasoned she was more likely to make it worse.

“She is a child. Her whole world just collapsed in on itself and you want me to let that smarmy…,” McGonagall paused, choosing her words, “…bully treat her like an insect on top of it? An attitude I could do without you adopting might I add!”

“I am not defending Severus’s attitude, nor do I feel the need to defend mine. Someone has to make it clear to that girl that she is in a world of danger and you trying to ease her into it will get her hurt Minerva!” Hooch shouted.

“Ah yes, she’ll be much safer if she can’t talk to us. You’re right Xiomara, absolutely the girl needs to learn to stand on her own even as we’re making it clear we won’t allow it,” McGonagall said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“That staircase is at least eight steps more!” Hooch shouted towards the kitchen doorway. Jack winced, and took the rest of the stairs as quietly as she could.

“Really Xio, you could have said something!” McGonagall hissed as Jack made it to the top of the staircase. Figuring that Hooch would realize if she did not hear the attic door pull down. Jack gave up the pretense and proceeded miserably on to her room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“How many socks did I need, Sadie?” Jack asked as she reached what she hoped was the bottom of the chest of clothes she’d been sent. Macha had cawed incessantly until Jack let her out the small attic window and had been gone for over three hours. So, in the interest of not giving her mind any quiet time to think about the day. She’d been talking to no one in particular and then as she began unpacking, had switched to Sadie, specifically. Thus far she had upbraided her teammate for the slovenly way her toiletries had been packed, what on earth she was supposed to do with a ten-pound stack of USPQL scouting reports in the UK and then every choice she’d made about which clothing to send. Thank goodness Sadie was some three and a half thousand miles out of ear shot or Jack might have felt the need to apologize.

“Not a single pair of underwear, fantastic.” Jack said pawing around the now empty corners of the chest and sitting back against the bed. The metal frame creaked in protest which was unsurprising considering it was probably at least a decade older than Jack herself. The mountainous pile of socks at her side threatened to crumble and scatter with even the slightest movement. Jack yearned to be able to send them flying into the dresser with a flick of her wrist.

_Only house elves and muggles do such menial tasks._

Her mother’s voice rang unbidden in her head. Her mother had been horrified on the one occasion her parents had visited the apartment in Brooklyn, when Keysha had mentioned offhandedly that she’d had to teach Jack how to fold a shirt by hand. Her mother had scolded her about it the entire way to the Junkyard that night.

For the three months between being signed by the Banshees and Jack’s equivalency exam Keysha and Sadie had been invaluable instructors on how to do things without magic. Keysha had left the apartment and didn’t come back for four hours after Jack mentioned the three house elves her parents kept. When Jack, utterly mortified asked Sadie what she had said, the Californian had glared at her, “She’s a black girl from Atlanta you figure it out.”

Jack had never talked about them with Keysha and Sadie again.

_“You be careful, with them,”_ her father had said, putting an uncharacteristically protective hand on her shoulder as he was leaving that night, _“Mudbloods can’t be trusted, your bedroom door has a lock?_

Jack had never felt so stupid in her entire life. Which was saying something since both her parents had been quite adept at making her feel stupid.

_It’s gonna be hard to top this, not really sure where you go from ‘I didn’t know my parents were genocidal terrorists’._ Jack thought smiling slightly at the idea that it sounded like one of those muggles talk shows Keysha liked to watch. The ones where no one knew who their children’s parents were.

Jack wished she had a chair to throw.

“Books,” Jack said aloud to no one, pushing herself up from the floor and reaching for the trunk behind the chest of clothes, she’d saved this task for last, as a treat for doing the rest. Not that she’d actually done the rest, the pile of socks could wait.

The trunk was heavier than she’d been expecting, but to be fair, she hadn’t ever had to physically lift it before. As she pushed open the lid her heart fluttered, thinking of her haphazard toiletries in the duffle bag. But Sadie hadn’t dared to do the same with these. Every inch of free space in the trunk had been filled with paper. Like a giant interlocking puzzle, they had been carefully placed and oriented to allow as many as could possibly fit. Sadie had even strapped a thin layer to the inside of the trunk’s domed top and Jack beamed at her ingenuity. Not even she had thought of that.

Jack reached for the topmost volume, _A wizarding History of New England_ and clutched it to her chest, it was thick and bound in leather. Jack was so homesick she thought she might vaguely smell the harbor on it. She opened the cover and riffled the pages just for the sheer joy of it and almost shrieked when something dark and small fell from its pages into her lap. Jack jumped back about a foot, scrabbling at the covers of the bed until her brain registered what it was and she couldn’t hold the laughter in. Picking the pair of underwear off her shoe tops, she tossed it onto the pile of socks, tears streaming down her face.

“Jackass.” Jack said to Sadie, sad this time that she couldn’t actually hear her. Jack pulled the books out one by one, arranging them in neat piles based on subject, retrieving her underclothes from them as she went. It was pleasant, distracting work and Jack found her mood improving with every precious treasure sorted.

There was a sharp ‘kah’ from behind her and Jack’s head jerked up to see Macha, having returned unnoticed, perched on top of the taller of the two large bookshelves on the far wall. The bookshelves that were already filled with books. Jack had been so exhausted the night before, feeling settled for the first time in a week, that she had convinced herself to let these wait for inspection when she had more time. She had meant to do it today anyway, and since there would be need to make room.

“Good point.” Jack said to the bird, standing and crossing the room to the bookshelf. The books on them already were old and worn, not that this was off putting in the slightest. Jack began on the top row, meaning to make a pile of ‘to be read’ and ‘to be put aside’, but as she went through them the ‘to be read’ pile was growing at an exceptional rate.

“Hogwarts: A History,” Jack read the cover aloud, tossing it onto the bed for reading that night. The more she could learn about the school without asking Hooch and McGonagall the better. She’d always been curious about school. It wasn’t that she felt she’d missed out on a proper education, all three of her tutors had ensured she learned all that she needed. But there was something missing, something that when Sadie talked about Death Valley Institute or Keysha waxed poetic about Hightower Academy made Jack feel as if she’d been cheated. If she were being honest, the prospect of going to Hogwarts, while inconvenient and not truly necessary as far as she was concerned, stood a chance at answering some long-standing questions about just what that missing thing had been.

“Great Wizarding Clans of Scotland,” Jack tossed this one next to the other on the bed. She’d never known much about her mother’s family. For reasons, she thought she was beginning to understand. 

The rest of the bookshelves were textbooks, old textbooks which let Jack be a bit more selective in what she was going to keep there. The History of Magic textbook she kissed in the middle of its rough cover and threw onto the bed with the others that were of special interest. The rest, she placed on the small battered desk, ready for study. She had no idea which exams she’d be expected to take first, so she had no idea which books she’d need or in what order.  
After putting the remainder of the books she wanted to stay there back onto the shelf, Jack had about a shelf and a half for her own books, not nearly enough space, especially considering that she had not yet actually emptied the chest of books that she’d been sent. Jack moved to the piles she’d made on the floor, tucking her socks and underclothes away before cramming what little she could onto the crowded bookshelf. Even layering them two thick on each shelf left a small stack of books with nowhere to go and Jack scanned the attic room frantically for any other space she could use. 

“This is horseshit without a wand bird.” Jack said to Macha in frustration. The crow merely cawed at her from a crossbeam, supremely unhelpful. At the thought of her wand, Jack removed the new one from her pocket, admiring it again and fighting every cell in her body not to wave it around and send things flying to where they ought to be. The thought of Genevieve’s face when she’d sent that fire jet shooting at the counter making her smile.

_There’s an idea._

Jack looked up at the crossbeam and reached for a chair.

With the additional space of the crossbeam Jack had the rest of the books put away in minutes, without having to make hard choices the tidying up went much faster, save Macha hopping on books and sending them tumbling to the floor. The chest, now almost empty was all that was left.

Jack lifted the chest, no easy feat, onto the bed, smiling despite herself at the spring creaking under it’s still not inconsiderable weight. Undoing the ingenious straps holding the remaining books into the top of the trunk, Jack went through them quickly. Mostly, they were small light paperback books: Muggle fiction, mostly fantasy novels which Keysha thought was incredibly funny. Jack always liked the way muggles wrote about magic. it was always hilariously wrong of course but it was a lot of fun, seeing what unlimited possibilities they came up with. Keysha had told her once how devastated she was that ‘Disney Villain Green’ wasn’t the normal color of all magic.

As she sorted them, Jack noticed a small, tanned leather book she didn’t recognize. It looked like a journal, which was something Jack had never owned. Notebooks yes, there were several armfuls of them on the crossbeam. But an actual journal she had avoided, her parents had always impressed upon her that it was dangerous to have a written record of one’s every thought. 

_So many pieces falling together eh girlie?_ Jack thought bitterly as she plucked the stranger from her pile of familiar pulp. When she turned it over in her hands, the smooth leather gave way to an embossed cover, the letters ‘DV’ clearly burned into the front. Jack’s brow furrowed. This had to be Sadie’s, as she opened the cover the suspicion was confirmed immediately by the tiny pencil rendered Jackalope hopping madly around the card paper name page. The Death Valley Institute’s mascot paused and stared up at Jack for a moment before hopping behind the name plate in the middle of the card which did in fact read ‘Mercedes Rico-Sun Tower Dorm’. 

She must have put it in by mistake. But how did Sadie’s school journal end up in any proximity to Jack’s books? Sadie’s room in the apartment was in a state of just barely controlled chaos, so it wasn’t out of the question that something of hers could migrate out of the insanity and into a common area where things were being packed. It just seemed like such an unlikely candidate to be moved in the first place. 

“I should not read this,” Jack said looking up at Macha for the crow’s approval. Here though was the opportunity for a voice from home, one of her favorites in fact. Sadie always made her laugh, and she couldn’t think of a time in her life she had needed a laugh more than now.

“It’s private,” Jack said with finality, putting the journal down on the bed. Macha cawed and hopped down from her perch onto the bed as Jack reached for another book. 

“Ow!” Jack shouted as Macha, with a much larger beak than she was used to, pecked at her hand angrily and hopped on the journal fluffing her feathers and cawing in Jack’s face. 

“What’s your problem?” Jack snapped covering the back of her hand where Macha had pecked and leaning back from her suddenly mad bird. Macha just cawed again, hopping off the journal and pecking viciously at its cover.

“Hey! That’s not yours. That’s not even mine!” Jack said snatching the journal away from Macha’s stabbing pecks and clutching it to her chest. Macha hopped onto her knee, the new weight of her made Jack wince. Macha pecked at the binding on the journal and Jack put her hand on the crow’s stomach, pushing her gently back.

“What you want me to open it?” Jack asked, exasperated and she was sure just a bit over tired as she half expected the crow to answer. “Fine, but you’re the one apologizing when we get back,” Jack said, leaning back and cracking the cover open. The Jackalope on the name card still hadn’t come out of hiding. Jack found herself wondering what year of school this was from, or if it was from all of it. if nothing else it might be an interesting template for how to act at a school. One lesson she thought she was unlikely to learn from any of the textbooks she’d just sorted through.

Jack hesitated a moment, her finger on the thick name card. It really wasn’t meant for prying eyes. Sadie never thought anyone would read it. She felt sort of voyeuristic at the idea of flipping the page over and it made her stomach flutter. 

“Fuck it,” Jack said turning the page over and immediately letting her mouth drop open in surprise.

_ARE YOU ALIVE?_

_ARE YOU ALIVE?_

_JACK?_

_Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius I sent you this three days ago!_

“No fucking way…” Jack said, not daring to grin as she tossed the book down on the pillow and dove to the floor, the bag she’d come back with from Hogsmeade was flopped unceremoniously against the bedside table, she snatched a quill and ink from it and grabbed the journal, frantically running to the desk. Macha flapping her wings and swooping up to the top of the bookshelf again cawing excitedly.

_Please tell me this is what I think it is…_ Jack scribbled onto the parchment page under the last message. 

Jack stared at the notebook for what felt like hours watching the empty space beneath her own writing, chewing her lip so hard she thought for a moment she might’ve drawn blood.

_Who’s asking?_

The words had appeared on the page in Sadie’s scratchy thin lettering, Jack could actually watch the pen strokes.

_Who do you think Jackass? Tell Keysha to stop watching spy movies because I know it wasn’t your idea to ask._ Jack wrote grinning so broadly her cheeks had begun to hurt.

_Well it’s definitely you._ the response came quickly and Jack laughed aloud.

_You ok? We haven’t heard from you and Myra’s about to have a conniption._

_Seriously who else would’ve been going through my books? And finding all my underwear?_

There was a long pause

_I dunno, could’ve been Emperor moldy shorts for all I know. By the way that was Keysha’s idea, I swear._

Jack laughed, pausing for a moment, considering what to ask, there were so many options she was at a loss for words.

_Seriously though, you’re OK right? Myra’s been giving me the third degree all week. That big guy said he hadn’t seen you, and I think she panicked._

_Myra needs to relax, I’m the one in mortal peril._ Jack wrote, not entirely sure after her conversation with Snape that morning if that was strictly true.

_That’s why Myra can’t relax. Believe it or not we’ve grown sort of…used to you._

Jack frowned, if that was the warmest endorsement she could expect, she wasn’t sure how open she should be. She missed them all terribly.

_Gee thanks, you really know how to pick a girl up Sadie._ she wrote, hoping that Sadie would read it as sarcasm and not that it had actually hurt.

_Would it make you feel better if I said we’d lost two expos since you left?_

Jack smiled; actually. it did.

_Maybe a little, who’s flying for me?_

_Henderson…don’t get me started there are only a couple hundred pages in my notebook._

Jack smirked, Sadie and Thea had never gotten along, Jack would be the first to admit she was biased but it was mostly Thea’s fault. She was a prude, which Sadie most certainly was not. Jack was trying to sort out which question she should ask next when more spidery black appeared on the page.

_So…what’s going on over there? I mean the big guy told me you were in Scotland but wouldn’t say where or who you were with or what the deal was with your parents. Is that thing still on your arm? Because they haven’t come asking for you, at least not to me and Key and she thinks we should move apartments but I don’t know if we should and Myra’s convinced they have you locked up in MI37 or whatever the hell it’s called, the one from Bond…did I make you watch that yet?_

Jack was a fast reader, but it took her three scans of the ever expanding writing to follow each question that Sadie had asked, she waited a full minute just to make sure that Sadie was done asking before started answering them. She told Sadie everything that had happened after Hooch whisked her out the infirmary at the junkyard, the journey to England, meeting Dumbledore…

_What the fuck’s a Ravenclaw?_ Jack had to stop abruptly to avoid writing over Sadie’s question.

_It’s a school house? I don’t really know yet, but I found a book on Hogwarts I’m going to read tonight._

_You are the only person I know who would assign themselves homework while they’re hiding out._

_Oddly enough, based on some things Hooch has said I think that’s what a Ravenclaw is._ Jack wrote with a shrug before diving back into her narrative, it took a further page and a half to just get the events of the last few days out with no commentary at all, Sadie was surprisingly patient not interrupting even once. As soon as Jack stopped the space beneath her narrative filled promptly with appropriate versions of “Whoah,” and “Daaaamn.”

_I’m sorry._ creeped across the page last.

_For what?_ Jack asked, smile fading. Sadie didn’t apologize for anything, and she’d been hoping this conversation could remain pleasant and distracting.

_Your parents…I’m really sorry Jack I know that didn’t feel good. Do you want to talk?_

Jack chewed on her bottom lip, frowning, not knowing really what to say back.

_Not yet. I haven’t really had time to think about it and Merlin knows that’s all H and McG are gonna want to talk about tonight._

There was a long pause, Jack wondered if Sadie was waiting for her to choose a new topic.

_Are they still fighting?_

Jack sat up in the small chair, listening, she wasn’t sure and she didn’t hear shouting.

_No idea, I was sent to my room…y’know like a toddler._ she wrote back.

_I’m 20, when I go home my abuela still sends me to my room._

Jack laughed, Sadie’s grandmother Carmela had visited the apartment twice since Jack moved in and had scolded her constantly about everything from the state of her room to the girl she’d been seeing at the time. It was the last point, on which Jack agreed so enthusiastically that drove Carmela to bring her a box of homemade polvorones the following visit. Sadie hadn’t spoken to her for two days after she refused to share them.

_She still trying to sign your marriage license for you?_ Jack asked pleased with the change of topic.

_Someday she’ll believe Keysha when she says she has a boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong I’m glad she’s cool but I’d really prefer she stop giving my address to every girl with short hair she meets._

_At least they’re all on the opposite coast._ Jack wrote, smiling to herself. In utter fairness to Sadie her taste in women was awful, Carmela would probably be a valuable matchmaking resource if she ever moved to New York.

_I wish my wardens were as cool as your abuela._ Jack wrote, listening intently again. The cottage was still quiet.

_It’s only been a week, Keysha hated your guts for like three. Give them some time. Or…_

Jack waited.

_Or what?_ she asked at last.

_You could do something nice for them, you know a ‘Hey sorry I’m a rich new England pain in the ass’ thing like you did with us._

Jack paused, she didn’t remember doing anything like that.

_What are you talking about?_

_When you made us dinner? The chowder and biscuits?_

Jack smiled, remembering the look on Sadie’s face when she’d walked into the apartment and saw food on the table. Sadie ate everything in sight and frequently things Jack was convinced she’d located by some kind of telepathy.

_That wasn’t an apology, watching you two live off of pop tarts and cereal was depressing._

_Oh, well it worked anyway, you should do that._

_Are you seriously only friends with me because I cook for you?_ Jack asked.

_Nah, you did laundry for me once too and you clean the bathroom…I guess you fly ok and Myra pays on time every month Key and I got a raise after we found out you were from Massachussetts and didn’t know what football was._

_You’re really lucky I can’t draw worth a damn._ Jack said, writing out the words ‘middle finger up’ just wasn’t as eloquent as the visual.

_You’re really lucky you can cook. What time is it there anyway?_

Jack looked at her watch, it was almost seven.

_Seven, if I’m going to do it I should probably go now, you got two o’clock drills?_ she asked.

_Yeah, hey you want to talk again before bed?_

Jack beamed, the promise of regular communication with home was almost too much.

_My bed right? Your bed is like four AM here._ Knowing Sadie it would be more like eight but Jack didn’t want to get up that early.

_Yeah, that’s cool. Try to do it before eleven your time I should be done with practice and I’m sure everyone will want a turn to say hi._

Jack’s stomach flipped, a surge of fear there.

_Sadie, just be careful who you tell about this. I don’t want anyone but the Banshees, first string even, just the ones that were there after the Harpies match._ Jack wrote.

_Jack, between Myra and Keysha I’m barely allowed to talk to myself in the bathroom mirror right now. Besides, you know I’d never do anything stupid to get you hurt right?_

_It’s not me I’m worried about, I don’t want anyone that might try to find me knowing that you can talk to me. It’s not safe for you._

It was a long moment before Sadie wrote back, long enough that Jack was almost writing again before the spidery writing started to appear.

_Jack, that’s really sweet, but I want you to worry about you for a while ok? Key and I can handle ourselves, and you can too as long as you aren’t royally freaking out. Go make dinner and talk to me later ok? I’m gonna be late._

Jack sighed, she didn’t want to stop talking.

_Ok, I’ll talk to you later._ Jack went to close the book, had it halfway even before she stopped.

_Sadie I can’t tell you how happy I am you sent this._ Jack added hastily.

_Me too, can’t tell you how much we miss you._

Jack let the journal fall closed and stretched, the sun was starting to set and the cottage was silent. She checked her watch, quarter after seven now. She’d been talking to Sadie for almost two hours and she felt empty inside at the thought that she had to wait four hours to talk to her again. Macha gave a pointed caw and Jack stood up from the chair, stroking the feathers above her beak in apology.

“You’re hungry too huh?” she asked holding her arm out. The crow hopped onto her shoulder and Jack headed for the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

“I still don’t think you’re sorry enough.” Hooch said as they walked up the path to the cottage. Minerva had finally extricated an apology from her on their fourth loop through the little patch of woods behind the house. Minerva smirked at her. This was a common ploy after a fight. Hooch lost, Hooch pretended she’d won, and Minerva eventually laughed about the whole thing.

“Too soon dear,” She said bending slightly to kiss her on the cheek, “But try again tonight.”

“You do see my point though don’t you?” Hooch asked, daring the rebuke.

“I do, as I believe I’ve said a few dozen times or so in the last hour. I see your point and I still think you’re wrong.” Minerva said as she pushed the gate open, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with a little honest affection. You of all people should know that. People do amazing things when they feel loved.”

Hooch was about to open her mouth again, an act of stubborn foolishness she knew but still worth it, when she caught the distinct odor of roasting chicken and her stomach growled ominously.

“Do you?” she started, looking at Minerva and sniffing the air again. Minerva stopped just short of the front door.

“I do…” she said turning the knob and going through, Hooch followed after her. The living room was saturated with the smell of chicken and browned butter a smell utterly foreign to this area of the house as take away tended only to permeate the kitchen.

“Oh goodness me.” Minerva said, passing through the door into the kitchen. Hooch walked around her to find a full roast chicken, a dish of potatoes and a green salad on the table. Jack’s crow was perched on the refrigerator cawing happily and fluffing its feathers.

“Oven’s on.” Hooch said moving to the oven and pulling the door open slightly. Steam and the smell of toasting rolls wafted out.

“They’ve got another minute.”

Hooch turned to find Jack, closing the cellar door behind her, a handful of small jars tucked into her elbow.

“Why do you keep your spices in the basement?” she asked, letting the small containers slide onto the counter at Hooch’s left.

“That’s where they go?” Hooch said, not bothering to hide her surprise.

“You two really never cook do you?” Jack asked reaching into the sink for a small bowl, it was filled almost completely with chicken drippings.

“What are you doing?” McGonagall asked, reaching up to the cupboard where the plates were kept.

“Gravy, your oven runs a little hot I think the breast might be dry.” Jack said pouring the drippings into a small pot on the stove and reaching for a bag of flour next to her. Hooch turned to Minerva, dumbstruck.

“Don’t just stand there like a stump, Xio, make yourself useful and fetch forks and such.” Minerva said, smiling broadly at Hooch and nodding at the drawer behind her.

“You…?” Hooch started, turning to fumble at the drawer, “You cooked that?” she asked freezing momentarily at the different sizes of spoon available before remembering she wouldn’t need them.

“Yeah,” Jack said, “Where’s your whisk?” 

Minerva pointed at the drawer next to the stove.

“I thought you had elves growing up? When did you learn to cook?” Hooch asked squeezing in between Jack and the table to begin putting utensils down. Minerva had already sent the plates flying to their positions and was working on napkins.

“From the elves,” Jack said with a grin, “My parents were always busy, so I talked to them I was kind of a chatty kid,” Jack looked at Hooch expecting something witty, gave it a moment and when it was clear nothing was forthcoming continued, “After a while you pick things up and…” Jack stopped for a moment, cup full of flour held over the pot, she shook her head, “I liked to help. It made it feel less like I was bothering them.”

Minerva gave Hooch a meaningful look over her spectacles. Hooch glared.

There was a soft ‘ding’ from the egg timer on the windowsill and Jack dumped the flour into the pot of chicken drippings, ducking down with a dishtowel to remove the tray of rolls.

“Well it smells wonderful.” Minerva said, reaching for the door to the ice box and withdrawing the butter.

“I didn’t even think we had chicken in the house.” Hooch said as Jack began furiously whisking the gravy together.

“Yeah you should probably take a look in your pantry occasionally, there’s like at least a month’s worth of meat in there alone.” Jack said. Hooch took out her wand and pointed it at the pot she was holding giving it a little flick and spin. The pot leapt out of Jack’s hands onto the burner and commenced whisking itself.

“Hey!” Jack yelled, jumping back from the stove and glaring at Hooch, “Look it would’ve been done an hour ago if I was allowed to use my wand. It’s not like I’m doing this the muggle way by choice.” She snapped.

Hooch lifted an eyebrow, “That wasn’t pointed I was trying to help.”

“Then maybe next time something like ‘I can do that’ or ‘Why don’t you sit down dear you’ve done enough’ might be in order,” McGonagall said before Jack could respond.

Hooch sighed.

“I’m sorry. Really this is all just lovely, why don’t you have a seat, we can handle the rest.”

“Sorry dear, she’s not quite house trained yet.” Minerva barked pointing her wand at the still steaming rolls and sending them flying into a tiny wooden bowl on the table.

“You know the whole dinner thing was supposed to be an apology for making you guys fight…” Jack said looking between the two older witches, apprehension on her face.

Both women stopped what they were doing, Minerva setting the dishes in the sink to scrub themselves, and Hooch glaring at Minerval.

“You didn’t make us fight.” Hooch said, smiling kindly at her, so kindly Jack looked to be momentarily frightened.

“We’ve never needed an excuse,” Minerva said, looking pointedly at Hooch with a sardonic smile.

“Look I’m not…you don’t need to reassure me I’m not a little kid I know when I’m the cause of a fight…” Jack said, turning from Minerva to Hooch in quick succession. Hooch frowned.

“No, you’re not which is why we were discussing, heatedly, how we are going to deal with your situation, we don’t know how long you’ll be under our protection or how much you’ll actually need. I am in favor of treating you as an adult…” Hooch began.

“And I am in favor of treating you like a sixteen year old, which is not quite an adult,” Minerva snipped, frowning at the stove and moving the pot of gravy off the burner.

“I can handle it, Hooch is right I shouldn’t be treated like a kid,” Jack said looking hopefully at Minerva. Hooch took the seat at the table next to her.

“Well the thing is...I am…not entirely right, neither is she, but that notwithstanding I believe the accord we came to was a decision to treat you like….you….whatever that means,” she said delicately.

Jack turned from Minerva to Hooch this time, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What the hell DOES that mean?” she asked.

“That a uniform approach, however commendable, is not actually effective with someone your age. There are certain things that you will handle with exceptional maturity and grace I am sure. There are others which will require more….support from us and I think we would do you a disservice to ignore those times for the sake of trying to er, toughen you up,” Minerva said spooning the gravy into a boat, Jack winced, there was a lot of dark brown in it and the flour had probably burnt.

“Don’t expect her to be like this once term starts, she’s a tyrant if there ever was one,” Hooch said. Minerva threw a roll at her, which Hooch caught and proceeded to butter as if nothing were amiss.

“Nonsense, after all she is my darling niece,” Minerva said reaching above the cupboard for a bottle of wine.

“Of course,” Hooch said with a conspiratorial wink at Jack who still looked more than a little confused.

“There’s nothing I can do to influence this at all is there?” she asked dejectedly, cutting a leg off the chicken with a vicious flourish.

“No, but the cooking doesn’t hurt. These are delicious,” Hooch said, tearing off another piece of roll.

“All unpacked, then?” Minerva asked, setting a primly thin slice of chicken on her plate. Jack hesitated for a moment.

“Yeah, mostly books,” she said spooning potatoes onto her plate and looking at the table top.

“Textbooks I hope,” Minerva said, “I’ve spoken to Griselda Marchbanks at the examination office, and she has graciously agreed to come here at the end of July to oversee your placement tests herself, it’s quite lucky really that she’s an old friend,” she finished looking pointedly at Hooch.

“An ancient friend, I’m fairly certain she docked Merlin himself for using a non-ministry approved quill,” Hooch said dutifully taking the bait.

“Spoken like a person with little hope of reaching old age dear,” Minerva said turning to Jack, “If the pipe and whiskey don’t do it, one day my patience will run out.”

Jack suppressed a giggle with another forkful of potatoes. Hooch gave her an appraising look.

“Think that’s funny do you? Well in the spirit of making utterly necessary emotional connections I never asked if you had a…someone in America you might want to converse with from time to time we can try to find a way to allow for some form of correspondence,” Hooch said with a grim smile as if she found the whole idea of it distasteful. Jack stopped mid-chew.

“Are you asking if I have a girlfriend? Is that what the English translation of all that is?” she asked.

“Or a boyfriend dear, we don’t judge,” Minerva said, “This chicken is wonderful.”

“I don’t,” Jack said suddenly uncomfortable, “But now that you mention the whole correspondence thing, Myra did say she wanted to hear from me from time to time, to know I’m safe and…” Jack began.

“We shall send reports to Ms. Demarco, The Order of the Phoenix has channels for that sort of thing,” Hooch said with finality.

“What’s the Order of the Phoenix?” Jack asked.

Minerva put her fork down and stared at Hooch accusingly.

“It was a secret organization dedicated to resisting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, now that Xio’s a member I’m sure the whole of wizardom can expect a newsletter,” Minerva said reaching for the salad.

“As well it should, and I see no reason why she shouldn’t,” Hooch said, “As long as we’re being open and trusting.”

“If you’re going to start fighting again I’ll make dessert,” Jack said standing to assess available counter space, the scrubbing was still going at a feverish pace and the dry pots and pans were stacking themselves in prime prep areas.

“We’re not fighting and don’t go anywhere, we have to discuss your assessments,” Minerva said gesturing Jack back into her seat. Jack leaned against the counter.

“They’re at the end of July that’s plenty of time for me to study, it’s not like I can practice anyway,” she said gesturing to the scrub brush, “I was going to have to do that by hand remember?”

“Your examinations are not until the end of July, but I have arranged for Hogwarts Professors in key subjects to assess your ability beforehand, so we know if there are any areas in which you may need remedial instruction,” Minerva said nodding again at the empty chair. Jack did as she was told this time, settling in with an eyeroll and a quickly reddening face.

“I do not need remedial instruction,” she said flatly.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Hooch said. “Assessments begin tomorrow anyway.”

Jack blanched, “TOMORROW?” she shouted, sitting bolt upright and nearly slamming her hand down in her potatoes and gravy.

“Yes, transfiguration,” Minerva said with a small smile. “ I want to see what you can do, and since Griselda denied my request to be your examiner-“

“You mean your request to cheat and display blatant favoritism,” Hooch said with a wink at Jack.

“My request to be your EXAMINER-“ Minerva repeated, “I would like to do the assessment so I’m not seeing you perform magic for the first time in class this term.”

“Assuming of course you achieve at least an Outstanding on said examination as Minerva does not suffer fools unless they are under fifteen or in Gryffindor House.”

McGonagall stared at Hooch over her glasses.

“If you would like to take over this conversation Xiomara you are more than welcome to-“

“So I’ll start on dessert then?” Jack asked moving potatoes around her plate with her fork.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Jack had been reading the same page over and over again for five minutes, frantically checking her watch every time she finished a paragraph. _Hogwarts a History_ was certainly interesting, but not nearly as interesting as the prospect that in a mere five minutes she was set to contact Sadie again. The journal and her quill were already set up neatly on the desk.

_While the founders agreed on the general need for a comprehensive magical education-_

Jack checked her watch it was 10:56.

_While the founders agreed on the general need for a comprehensive magical education they were undoubtedly influenced by their varied social station-_

10:56

_While the founders agreed on the general need for a comprehensive magical-_

10:57

“Fuck it,” Jack said. She tossed the book to the foot of the bed, from the three pages she’d managed to actually read all she’d gotten was the distinct impression that this Slytherin guy was going to really suck.

Jack jumped at a sudden noise from the desk, the journal’s cover had flapped closed, then open again on its own. Jack leapt from the bed, nearly sending herself headlong into a bookcase and eliciting an extremely annoyed ‘kah’ from Macha who’d just now decided where she was going to perch for the night.

_HEY HOTSHOT_ had scrawled itself in all capitals, across the top of the page.

_Hi Myra._ Jack wrote back smiling broadly.

_Got ya it’s Keysha, but Myra’s here too, everyone’s here actually except Sadie, she’s scrubbing down the locker room because she didn’t tell Myra she’d talked to you till like five minutes ago._

Jack laughed, trying to picture Myra’s face when Sadie had mentioned casually to her at the end of practice that she’d finally managed to make contact.

_So everyone’s got questions…you game?_

Jack thought for a moment, not sure she wanted to go through the whole thing again but finally relented.

She spent the next hour retelling the whole story she’d given Sadie that morning, with new and interestingly intrusive questions. Several of which were from Sue about Hooch, most decidedly on topics Jack didn’t want to speculate on.

_Dude that SUCKS._ Keysha wrote when Jack told her about the exams. Jack smiled.

_Seriously they’re talking about remedial instruction, I wish I had you or Sadie here for comparison they’d think I was a freakin genius._ Jack wrote, sticking out her tongue to no one at her own joke.

_You’re a lot braver 3,000 miles away._ Keysha wrote back, _Most of the team is heading out, you wanna talk to Sadie?_

Jack’s stomach lurched, she did want to talk to Sadie, she wanted to talk to all of them and an hour wasn’t long enough, particularly when the only one with the quill had been Keysha. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her but she would have appreciated a couple minutes with Myra or Loretta, they always gave good advice.

_I don’t want to keep you guys._ Jack wrote after a moment. She didn’t want to monopolize all their time, she had to learn to make do with what she got, if she was too needy they might stop writing at all and the thought of that filled Jack with a cold, sinking sensation that she’d just as soon avoid.

_Girl would you please talk to her she hasn’t shut up about it all day and she’s been whining this whole time that we were doing it without her. I can’t live with her like this._

Jack smiled, pausing for a long moment just to toy with Keysha.

_I guess I’ve got a minute, I mean if she’s desperate._

_Desperate?_ the message came in Sadie’s spidery handwriting.

_I was just messing with Keysha._ Jack wrote quickly suddenly embarrassed, it hadn’t even really been a joke, more of a vague implication.

_Jack, I know._ the reply came, Jack’s heart stopped racing and she let out a sigh of relief, how stupid would it have been to piss Sadie off on the first day?

_So I just wanted to check in and see how they took it, I didn’t hear Keysha mention it when she was reading your answers back._ Sadie wrote.

Jack paused for a moment, honestly confused.

_Took what?_ she asked.

_The journal. What’d they say when you told them? When you were talking before it kind of sounded like they were a little paranoid._

Jack froze, her quill hovering over the inkpot. She’d meant to tell them, she’d even begun to tell them. Hooch had interrupted her and she’d let it drop. After they’d cleaned up and Jack had begged off to the attic to study, she’d thought about it more, would the journal be like Macha, a begrudging allowance? Would it be like her name, a hard no saved by happy circumstance and a quick mind?

Or would it be like her wand, too dangerous to be allowed?

_I didn’t tell them and I don’t’ think I’m going to._ Jack wrote, putting it in ink made it more real for her. Writing it down was the quickest way to render any decision immutable in Jack’s mind.

_Why not? Jack, you’re telling me everything right? You trust them?_

_Yeah, I think I do, but like you said they’re kind of paranoid and I don’t want-_ Jack paused again, trying to think of a more adult thing to say than that she was scared they’d take the journal from her.

_You’re afraid they’ll take it, like your wand?_ Sadie wrote. Jack sighed, so much for sounding more adult.

_Kinda._

There was a long moment before Sadie began writing again, Jack twirled the quill between her fingers, she was sure she was about to get a chewing out, anything that took this long to figure out was probably being worded very delicately.

_You might be right._

That was it. Jack nearly threw the journal across the room.

_And?_ Jack scribbled furiously, convinced there was a longer diatribe coming.

_You might be right? I mean they haven’t exactly been listening to you, maybe wait a while and see if that changes first._

Jack stared at the journal.

_On the other hand-_

Jack leaned forward, this time she was sure it was coming.

_My mother always used to say to be careful of keeping secrets. They always come out and you never get to choose how or when._

Jack sighed, lots of help there. Her parents had certainly done a bang up job of keeping secrets, and she highly doubted the journal was going to rise in sentience and announce its existence to the wider world, thereby implicating her in a lie.

_You still there?_

Jack shook herself out of thought, dipping the quill again before responding.

_Yeah sorry, it’s just after midnight here. I don’t think I’m going to tell them, if nothing else I can change my mind on that. If I tell them now I can’t take it back if they take it badly._

_That sounds good, why don’t you go get some sleep? Keysha’s bugging me to go get dinner anyway._

Jack paused, regretting mentioning the time. She wasn’t tired yet.

_I mean I can stay up a little longer and Keysha’s perfectly capable of getting take out on her own._ Jack wrote hopefully.

There was another long pause. This time, Jack was sure her instincts were right, Sadie was a blabbermouth most of the time but she really thought about things when she wasn’t sure how the other person was going to take it.

_Actually she kind of set me up with this girl and her and Charlie were gonna double with us so it would be less y’know, me on a first date._

Jack groaned, she hated it when Keysha set Sadie up, the dates always went badly. Keysha always talked Sadie up to the point of impossibility. Jack liked Sade but she wasn’t particularly suave and had trouble putting more than four words together in the presence of a woman she found attractive. Sadie was shy and Keysha always made it sound like Sadie was going to talk the girl out of her pants in five minutes. On the rare occasion one of these girls stuck around longer than dinner they were invariably in it for the thrill of dating a professional quidditch player and did not understand why Sadie didn’t want to go to a loud drunken party where she wasn’t going to know anyone. Sadie only did that stuff for Keysha and occasionally Loretta when she was particularly aware of her age.

_Oh it’s cool, no biggie then. Hope you have fun._ Jack wrote quickly.

_I can cancel if you want._

Jack did want that, very much.

_No, go have a good time, there’s no reason for you to be locked up just because I am. Just promise me you’ll tell me all about it if she’s cute? I have nothing to live for over here I’m stuck with two old married women._

_HA. You got it. Write me tomorrow after your test thing?_

Jack smiled, at least it would be something to look forward to.

_Sure, just y’know try to kick her out of your bed by the early afternoon ok?_

_You know I didn’t want to ask before because you were upset, but do you think British girls go nuts for American accents? Because I know the reverse is true._

Jack laughed, she hadn’t thought about it, certainly the ones she’d met so far didn’t seem impressed though to be fair they’d all been at least forty.

_Dunno, I’ll let you know in September._


	6. Chasers and Keepers

“All finished?” McGonagall asked, pointing her wand at the papers in front of Jack before she had a chance to answer. Jack managed to put the period at the end of her last sentence before they flew across the room into McGonagall’s hand.

“Five hundred questions?” Jack asked. It was the first time she’d spoken in three hours. McGonagall had set the small sheaf of parchment paper before her that morning immediately following breakfast, loudly complaining that she hadn’t brought a roll long enough and had been reduced to preparing the test on irregular scraps.

“Five hundred and eight,” McGonagall corrected her sitting in the chair opposite and beginning to scan the top sheet over her glasses.

“Merlin’s beard, Minerva, are you trying to turn her for him?” Hooch asked pouring what Jack was sure was her third cup of tea that day.

“This is an extremely complicated and difficult subject; I will not reduce it to a handy one-sheet, nor will I continue to take any cheek from either of you on that point,” McGonagall said calmly, flipping the first sheet of paper over to read through the back.

“I only had a half an inch per answer! That’s not nearly enough for some of the theory questions you asked!” Jack said, aggressively rubbing at her temples. Her brain felt like she’d had it doing push-ups.

“It’s not being graded, it’s just to see if we have to go over anything ahead of the exam. I don’t need perfect answers, just to know that you know it is sufficient,” McGonagall snapped turning another sheet over.

Hooch was staring at Jack in open wonder, “THAT’s what bothered you?” she asked.

“I wasn’t thrilled with the section on comparative wand motion either, American wizardry has IMPROVED the efficiency of gesture on almost the entire catalog of substitutiary locomotion and the phrasing of the question implied-“ Jack began.

“That is one opinion,” McGonagall said, flipping the paper in front of her.

“The phrasing of the question implied,” Jack said again, louder this time, “That it’s some kind of deviant heresy to do a downward lunge instead of a upward lunge when working with linens which is simply not true, and furthermore-“

“I will give you ten galleons to swallow the ‘furthermore’,” Hooch said putting her hand over her eyes.

“Seriously?” Jack asked pausing the tirade and temple massage.

“No,” Hooch replied with a stern look.

“Furthermore-“ Jack began again, Hooch slapped the back of her head with the copy of the Daily Prophet she was holding.

“Bloody Ravenclaws,” Hooch muttered, sitting at the table and opening the paper with a threatening snap of the front page.

“Your objections are duly noted, and utterly irrelevant,” McGonagall said, flipping the last piece of parchment with a small smile. “You only missed ten questions, I think you’ll do just fine on the written.”

Jack blanched, “Which ten?” she asked, reaching out a hand for the parchment. McGonagall smiled at her.

Hooch gave an exaggerated sigh from behind the Prophet and pulled a single sheet from near the back. “Here. There’s an article about the American league,” she said, sliding the paper in front of Jack, who froze on the spot. McGonagall still hadn’t answered her question, but she wanted to read the article. She wanted to read the article very badly but there was still the question of which questions she’d gotten wrong. What if the exam was solely on those ten topics and she’d gotten them wrong? What if the article talked about the Banshees? What if there were things Sadie hadn’t told her about rankings or schedule?

“I think you tripped a fuse,” McGonagall said, re-shuffling the parchment and reaching for Jack’s quill.

“It’s blew a fuse, tripped a circuit. Seriously woman your father was a muggle,” Hooch said, turning the page of the Prophet again and grunting in disgust at something Jack couldn’t see.

“Aye dea,r but not an electrician,” McGonagall said without looking up from scanning the pages, quill at the ready.

“The Ministry of Magic can’t lie to save its own skin,” Hooch muttered as McGonagall slid two sheets of paper towards Jack, large looping ovals around the answers she’d missed. Jack glanced at the papers, then the article, then the papers again…

“See this is what I’m talking about!” Jack shouted pointing at the top most answer on the sheet, “This one is clearly open to interpretation based on whether or not you accept Franklin’s theory of pre-incantation subject orientation and preparation which virtually all American wizards do!” Jack said, losing her willpower at last and sliding the assessment towards her with vicious force.

“I will give you twenty Galleons to change the subject,” Hooch said, the corners of the paper wilted in her frustration.

“Seriously?” Jack asked, her other hand edging towards the quidditch article.

Hooch let the paper drop into her lap, her eyebrows raised in wry amusement, “Just to be clear when I offer you money to change the subject it is never a literal statement. I am merely quantifying my displeasure in currency,” she said, raising the paper again.

“In that case, I have several other objections to this,” Jack said, continuing to scan her way down the page.

“All complaints and whinging are to be submitted in writing, formal prose only and deposited in the bin,” McGonagall said, standing from the table smiling broadly and pointing at the trashcan, she completely ignored Jack’s sheepish slouch, “I believe you have several, Hogwarts approved textbooks on Transfiguration upstairs if you want to learn the way you’ll be tested on. Otherwise I’m afraid you’ll just have to live with less than a percentage point off of perfect,” she said. McGonagall turned and reached into a cabinet above her head.

“Minerva how big of you,” Hooch muttered from behind the paper. McGonagall shot her a annoyed look before turning around and placing an ancient battered looking copper coffee pot on the table in front of Jack.

“Now, wand out and shrink it down please,” McGonagall sat back down, looking up at Jack expectantly. Jack just stared back at her.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to-“ she began, looking from McGonagall to the inscrutable back of Hooch’s newspaper, there was a photo on the front page of a small man in a bowler hat shouting angrily at many extended microphones.

“I arranged a dispensation when I registered you, as long as the magic is performed in the cottage you won’t be punished,” McGonagall said.

“When the hell did you do all that?” Jack asked.

“Yesterday while we were fighting,” Hooch said, “Now shrink the damn pot before this becomes an all-day affair.”

“You mean I could’ve put my clothes away with magic?” Jack asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Now shrink the pot please,” McGonagall said.

Jack resisted the urge to continue muttering under her breath as she pulled her new wand from her pocket, suppressing a smile out of principle. She still loved the way it looked. It felt like it was humming in her hand, eager for the exercise.

“Reducio.” Jack said with as little enthusiasm as she possibly could as she pointed the wand at the coffee pot. It shrunk to the size of a thimble. Jack grinned, her old wand had never been able to get anything down past teacup size.

“Very good, enlarge it again please.” McGonagall said.

Jack did as she was told, with an elaborate eye-roll.

“Walk it to the edge of the table and back, without the attitude thank you very much,” McGonagall ordered, giving Jack a stern glare.

Jack walked the coffee pot to the edge of the table then made it do cartwheels back to the center just to see if she could, it didn’t even wobble.

“There’s no need to show off, an animal…a SMALL one please,” McGonagall said.

“Draconifors Minimus,” Jack said with a grin. The coffee pot morphed into a black dragon with a copper colored belly about the size of a mouse, two tiny lines of dark smoke curling out of its snout. It blinked twice and opened its mouth shooting a tiny jet of flame at Hooch.

“Oh really!” Hooch shouted as the bowler hat wearing man on the front page dove out of the way, the paper singed in a perfect tiny circle.

“Very cute- Finite Incantatum,” McGonagall said with a scathing look at Jack, the tiny dragon changed back into a coffee pot.

“Anything else?” Jack asked, she was examining the wand in her hand, it had been effortless. Her old one probably would’ve had the dragon missing a leg. Her equivalency had gone well enough but Jack had gotten docked on the look of things in Transfiguration for almost every spell.

“This isn’t a joke you know,” McGonagall said.

“How so? I mean what happens if I fail these tests? What if I flunk every class? What happens?” Jack asked shrugging her shoulders and smiling, exasperated.

“You make yourself obvious for one, for another you are attending Hogwarts under MY family name and I will not have you slacking off or playing the fool,” McGonagall said, her eyes had gone steely again, like they had with Hooch the day before, “lastly, I admit based on this very small sample that you are rather talented for a sixteen year old. You are about to be a student at the finest school of magic in the world. Are you going to tell me there’s nothing you could possibly learn while you’re there?”

Jack crossed her arms, her shoulders hunched she muttered a barely audible apology.

“Do we teach manners?” Hooch asked ruffling the paper back upright.

“Clearly not dear, you’re a graduate,” McGonagall sighed, “You are dismissed, but be warned you have Arithmancy tomorrow and I won’t have you being rude to Professor Vector are we understood?” McGonagall asked, pinching her nose as if to ward off a nascent headache.

“Yes,” Jack said with a weak apologetic smile.

“Excellent, put the pot away and go…study,” McGonagall said with a dismissive wave. Jack pointed her wand at the coffee pot, sending it flying back into the cupboard which flapped closed with a bang. McGonagall looked for just a moment as if there was further scolding in order, Jack flashed what she hoped was a charming grin as she snatched the quidditch article off the table and ran for the stairs. Sadie would just be waking up.

The door to the cottage swung open ahead of her and Jack reached for her wand instinctively.

“That won’t be necessary Miss…McGonagall,” Snape said with a sneer, shutting the door behind him.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack was halfway through the third round of heating on her Calming Draught when McGonagall finally lost her willpower.

“It would’ve taken you about half a minute to send a message,” she muttered bitterly at Snape. Snape was looming over the workbench in the cottage’s tiny cellar, watching Jack sweat as she added half a drop of Tentacula venom to the small pewter cauldron that Hooch had hastily provided.

“Minerva, if I didn’t know better I would feel unwelcome,” Snape replied, never taking his small dark eyes off of Jack’s hand.

Jack had never minded potion making; it was meticulous and even soothing under the right circumstances, sorting and measuring things in the cellar at her parents’ house had always been a welcome respite from actually having to talk to anyone. For some reason it was less relaxing with Severus Snape existing in the same space.

“Nonsense, Severus, I’m just so pleased Xio put pants on this morning. It could have been irreversibly traumatic.”

Jack nearly spilled half a jar of powdered goose feather into the cauldron.

“The girl is trying to concentrate, and I do not appreciate being brought into this. I’m Swiss as chocolate Minerva, you know that,” Hooch growled from her seat by the tiny window, tapping the bowl of her pipe impatiently against the stone sill.

“The girl could concentrate better if there weren’t three people talking,” Jack said quietly, reaching for the stirring paddle.

“I doubt that would help,” Snape said.

Jack gritted her teeth and began to stir. The written had gone pretty well, Snape had pronounced her ‘not a total imbecile’ which Jack surmised was high praise. If nothing else it had only been sixty questions though she was assured this had been due solely to the sudden need to perform the assessment. He was supposed to have come at the end of the following week.

“I don’t suppose you’re allowed to tell us the nature of this new assignment?” Hooch asked, clearly interested in a change of subject.

Jack’s potion had turned robin’s egg blue, the heat wasn’t right. She bent to the flame under the cauldron hesitantly, dearly hoping that Snape had looked away at the question. At least it still smelled vaguely of lilac.

“No I cannot, but it will keep me away for a few weeks at least,” Snape said, “Pretty, but utterly wrong girl.”

_Dammit_

“Do you normally teach in such close quarters Severus?” McGonagall asked. Snape was so close to Jack’s shoulder she was afraid she might elbow him in the gut by accident, or possibly on purpose.

Jack eased the flame under the cauldron up just a little higher, maybe a half a degree hotter, she was sure that would do it.

“No Minerva, but normally I don’t set this particular potion before a student whose competency is unknown to me. Seeing as a mistake can lead to the production of a potentially lethal sedative gas and there is very little ventilation-“

“Point taken,” McGonagall said sharply.

Jack had resumed stirring, the blue was getting darker, which was a very good sign. She glanced down at the recipe, she had twenty more clockwise stirs then thirty counterclockwise, thirty five for enhanced efficacy.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with the McCubbins though?” Hooch asked.

Jack’s arms stuttered for the briefest moment at the mention of her parents. Snape hadn’t said anything when he explained himself before, but he didn’t seem like the type to volunteer that information.

“Focus,” McGonagall said softly from behind her, Jack began stirring again, panicking just for a second that she’d lost count. It might be a little strong but it wouldn’t ruin it.

“Minerva I’m quite certain you are capable of brewing a Calming Draft, I should like to see if she can,” Snape said, “No, it’s not the McCubbins. Sources tell me they are out of the country.”

Jack froze again, there was a highly suspect cough from behind her and she set her arms back to work, listening intently.

“Do you know where?” Hooch asked, the pipe ceasing it’s tapping for the moment.

“I do not, but I don’t think I shall be surprised when I’m told,” Snape replied, he craned his neck over Jack’s right shoulder, tutting softly.

Jack panicked, how long had she been going counter clockwise? She thought she’d done twenty, but it could be more than that, there was a vague memory of twenty six…she was still stirring and had no idea what number she was on.

“You think they’re in America?” McGonagall asked, her tone gone deadly serious.

“Quite sure of it,” Snape said slowly, he sounded mildly distracted.

Jack stopped stirring, hoping that she’d fallen somewhere in that five stir safe zone. One more round of high heat and she’d know. If it turned a dark gray, she’d be all right. Anything else and Sadie would be getting an earful later assuming she wasn’t in a hospital bed.

“I have a question,” Jack said, pointing her wand at the flame and raising it as high as she dared.

“Based on what I’ve seen Miss McCubbin I would’ve assumed you had more than one,” Snape said silkily. He had at least stepped back far enough that Jack couldn’t smell his breath anymore.

“You’ve been going back and forth when he calls you?” Jack asked, looking at her watch, she had ten minutes until the potion should be done.

Snape sneered at her, “Yes.”

“How come this thing hasn’t burned again?” Jack asked pointing at her arm. Snape’s sneer transformed into a nasty smile.

“The mark will burn only when he calls ALL of his followers to him. I assure you the Dark Lord is perfectly capable of summoning individual servants directly,” Snape’s eyes flicked over her shoulder at the cauldron. Jack looked at her watch, she had plenty of time.

“How do you know where to go when it does?” Jack asked. Snape glared at her.

“That is none of your concern, as you never will,” Hooch said.

“I’m just curious, I mean is there some kind of specialized apparition involved or is there some kind of tracking spell on this thing? I mean can my parents find me just by touching their arms? I just want to understand the logistics here,” Jack said shrugging her shoulders and giving Hooch the most innocent of looks.

“No, no and no, I hope that helped,” Snape said with a smirk that clearly said he didn’t.

“Would you tell me if I was right?” Jack asked, trying her best to maintain eye contact.

“No.”

“That was productive,” Jack said glancing at her watch, one minute left. Jack looked over her shoulder at the Potion, it looked like liquid pencil lead, shimmery and gritty all at once.

“That…might not be good,” Jack, said turning to check the flame beneath the cauldron. It was fine, she stood perfectly still staring at the potion. Holding her breath and crossing her fingers beneath the table.

“That…might not be passing.” Snape said with a surprisingly genuine smile.

Jack extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron if anything as the time elapsed the potion had gotten lighter.

“Hmmm…definitely not,” Snape said. “Though I suppose you deserve partial credit for not killing us all.”

“I over stirred it,” Jack said, “I lost count.” She could feel the heat starting in her cheeks as she said it.

“Girl if that were the sum total of your problems I would still suggest sleeping in on exam day,” Snape said with that same nasty smile.

Jack’s face went scarlet. She leaned back against the work table and began picking distractedly at her cuticles. There were many other questions she would have liked to ask Snape, but she didn’t think she’d be able to speak them. He was the only other person she knew who had the mark that she could talk to.

“It was my fault Severus, give her another go,” Hooch said standing.

“It was not your fault Xiomara and as I may have mentioned several times today I have work of actual importance to do,” Snape said vanishing the contents of the cauldron with a wave of his wand.

“It is, I distracted her, I shouldn’t have asked about…your mission,” Hooch said leaning against the workbench so close to Jack they were almost touching.

“We weren’t talking about my mission when she neglected to pulverize the asphodel completely, though I’m glad to see that you recognize your mistake,” Snape said turning to Jack, “We still don’t know how trustworthy the girl is, I’ve already told you, and Dumbledore I don’t think it wise to tell her much.”

Jack’s face burned.

She started, pushing off from the workbench, McGonagall was already standing and fixed Jack with a stern glare that stopped her in her tracks.

“We are not having this conversation now.” She said, looking at Snape for all the world as if she would hex him if he opened his mouth again.

“No, I don’t think that wise either, now if you’ll all excuse me I have business to attend to,” Snape said, his eyes never leaving McGonagall’s face. He swept up the stairs without even so much as a glance over his shoulder.

“Well, that’s potions done then,” Hooch said with a small smile at Jack.

Jack stared at the ingredients on the workbench, the asphodel root with special hatred and pulled her wand to clear them.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

_I don’t think they would’ve told you about him if they didn’t._

_Yeah they would, if Dumbledore told them to. It’s weird, they all do whatever he says._ Jack wrote back. An hour into her venting session with Sadie and she still didn’t feel any better.

_I do whatever Loretta says._

Jack sighed, she knew Sadie was trying to make her laugh but she hated it when she couldn’t be serious. Which was most of the time.

_They’re sending me back to school, they won’t take my word for it that I know what I’m doing they have to give me tests first, I’m not allowed to try to contact anyone without going through them, I’m not allowed to go into town by myself, I had to beg permission to keep Macha and DID I MENTION THEY ARE SENDING ME TO SCHOOL?_

There was a long moment before the ink started creeping onto the page, Sadie had clearly been deep in thought.

_You know sometimes I forget you’re only sixteen and then you talk._

Jack lifted the journal over her head, for half a second she was utterly prepared to chuck it across the attic as hard as she could. The only thing that stopped her was an irrational fear that if the notebook burst into a loose whirlwind of pages she would break the transference charm and not be able to fix it.

_I want you to know I have a strong urge to light this notebook on fire right now,_ Jack wrote, having to content herself with the threat.

_Seriously though. Jack, it could be a lot worse. I mean what you’re dealing with right now sounds like most normal people’s childhoods. I mean Colonel Plimpywarts wants to find you, I wouldn’t sweat it over two little old lesbians treating you like a teenager when you ARE a teenager._

_It’s not-_ Jack wrote, paused, then scratched it out.

_This is not normal whining Sadie! I’m not pissed off summer is over. I’m mad because I am not a child, and I am in danger, and they don’t trust me! I don’t even know if it’s because I’m younger, or if it’s because they think I might turn, and that asshole Snape practically said it was the second one and I don’t-_

The writing came really quickly, so quickly Jack had a hard time following it, Sadie’s frantic lines were blurring towards scribbles.

_They took you into their house Jack, you’re living with them, do you honestly think if they thought you might be like your parents that they would’ve done that?_

“Oh come on!” Jack shouted to no one. Macha cawed irritably from her perch atop the cross beam and fluffed her wings. Jack glared at her. “She’s not right, and don’t think I don’t know that’s what that means.”

_If Dumbledore told them to, yes I do._ She wrote back.

_Do you trust them?_

Jack slumped back against the headboard. She wasn’t sure. She thought she did, she didn’t really have a reason not to. Everything had happened so fast that she hadn’t really had time to think about it.

_I think so, but I’m not sure._

_Well if you’re not sure, I don’t see any reason for them to be yet. I mean-_ there was a long time between words, Jack was just about to prompt Sadie to finish when she started again, _Jack you know I trust you right? I’m not proud of how I reacted to that thing on your arm._

Jack had been trying not to think about that. The Banshees faces when they’d pulled her uniform up, it had been shock and then instant fury. Jack, who’d still very much been stuck on shock hadn’t even registered until she’d woken up the next day, that everyone she knew and loved best in the world had almost instantly thought the worst of her. It still hurt to think it.

_It’s not your fault, what else were you supposed to think?_ Jack wrote, looking down at her left arm. She’d kept her sleeves down since then, Hooch had suggested it, so she got used to it. She couldn’t absent mindedly roll them up and blow the whole thing.

_If you’re willing to forgive me, maybe cut them a little slack?_

_You know you still haven’t actually apologized for that…_ Jack wrote back, trying to force a smile onto her face.

_I’ll send you a card, I’ll make sure it’s nice and small so you can shove it where it belongs._

Jack almost did a spit take at the page. She was about to write back when there was a light knock at the floor under the ladder.

_I have to go, talk to you before bed?_

_If that’s how long it takes you to come up with a comeback sure._

Jack snapped the notebook shut with a jolt of fear as the hinge in the floor creaked and the ladder descended. She shoved it under her pillow. She’d thought she’d be able to hide it on the way to answering the knock.

“You know generally you’re supposed to wait for a response.” She said, sliding off the bed and trotting to the door, her face hot with embarrassment, she felt like she’d been caught at something.

“Generally yes, but we’re under a time crunch.” Hooch said, she’d gotten as far as the second rung before Jack was looking down at her.

“What for?” she asked, puzzled. Hooch had an odd look on her face, or maybe it was just the angle.

“We’re losing the light and you have one more assessment to do today.” She said with a smirk, her amber colored eyes narrowed mischievously.

Jack groaned. They were trying to kill her.

“Is this professor a grade A dick too?” she asked, not caring that Hooch would be highly offended.

“Yes, but there’s no written.” Hooch said, the smirk growing wider.

“What subject?” Jack asked, heartened because she didn’t think she could possibly write anymore.

“Mine, fetch your broom. I’ll meet you in the garden.” Hooch said actually smiling this time as she stepped down from the ladder and walked away.

Jack was frozen in place. She wanted to scream, jump, run and cry all at once, her anger completely forgotten. Macha cawed happily and swooped down from the beam onto the dresser next to the Warhead, flapping her wings and clicking her beak excitedly.

Jack lunged for the broomstick and tore down the ladder after Hooch, Macha fluttering after her.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I think you passed,” Hooch called from the ground as Jack pulled dizzily out of her third barrel roll. Hooch had actually gone to the trouble of creating a checklist and had indeed assessed her ability to fly. It had taken two minutes that Jack would have preferred to have to herself. But it had been over quickly and ever since Hooch had been shouting trick maneuvers and Jack had been happily obliging. Macha had been terrorizing a tree full of squirrels for half an hour.

“You know I was worried,” Jack said with a laugh. She wasn’t actually being sarcastic. She’d gotten out into the garden proper before she’d realized what she was about to do. She knew Hooch had already seen her fly, but she hadn’t known it was happening. Now she had been about to get on a broomstick in front of a woman who’s greatest professional moment was plastered on the wall over her bed at home.

“Accio broom,” Hooch said lazily pointing her wand at the shed. Jack swooped down for a better look as the broomstick rocketed out of the shed door and into Hooch’s hand.

The broom was pristine, dark wood and reddish-brown twigs. What was truly interesting, though, were the carvings, symbols Jack didn’t recognize twisted around the handle from grip to tip. Jack leaned forward peering at them intently, there were letters, though they didn’t spell anything in a language Jack recognized.

“What is that?” Jack asked pointing at the letters.

“It’s custom but it’s a Nimbus base.” Hooch said looking admiringly at the broom, “Modified it myself, you see the slope of the-“

“I meant the writing,” Jack interrupted, pointing at the lettering again.

“None of your business.” Hooch said pulling the broom protectively to her chest.

“Hebrew, Scots-Gaelic, and Polish.”

Jack looked up from the broom handle, McGonagall was standing on the back steps, mug of tea in hand.

Hooch scowled at her.

“What does it say?” Jack asked looking from McGonagall to Hooch, who shifted the glare in response.

“None of your business, and not yours to tell.” She said, first to Jack then to McGonagall.

“I thought what was mine was yours and so forth?” McGonagall said, eyebrow arching as she sipped the tea.

“This is a lot like how there’s your money and my money and our money,” Hooch said sternly, she turned to Jack, “You tired of flying yet?”

Jack, though disappointed by the non-answer to her question, shook her head with a grin.

“Very well then, accio quaffle,” Hooch said, pointing her wand at the shed again.

“Going to the hoops then?” McGonagall asked, the mug of tea dropping slightly, her eyes wide with interest.

“Yes, you coming?” Hooch asked, raising her wand again and pointing it at the shed, “I mean, if you’re not too tired of course dear.”

McGonagall stiffened, putting the mug delicately on the step she pulled her own wand, “Accio broom.”

Another, even older looking model of broomstick soared gracefully out of the shed and into McGonagall’s outstretched hand.

“Of course not sweetheart, unless you want me to stay. I know what a temper losing puts you in.”

Hooch rolled her eyes and kicked off onto the broom, Jack shot after her, McGonagall just behind.

Hogsmeade looked even prettier from the air, everything did. Jack followed close behind Hooch as they passed over the village at speed, the thatched roofs whipping by beneath her in a charming blur.

“Where’s the pitch?” Jack shouted over the wind to McGonagall who’d caught up with her while she was watching the town zip by.

“Hogwarts,” she shouted back.

Jack looked ahead of her to the ever-growing turrets and towers of the castle. It was only the second time she’d seen it properly, and she was full of sudden longing to go ducking and diving between the conical roofs and corridor bridges. As they soared over the gate and into the grounds Jack’s eyes drifted towards the mountains bracketing the little valley where the school hid from the world and she ached to push the broom ever faster towards their peaks. New England was lovely but it did NOT look like this.

“Down!” Hooch shouted into the wind.

Jack followed her in a sharp dive, leveling off just a few feet above the glistening surface of the dark lake, she thought she saw the shadow of something very large beneath the shimmer, just for a moment.

Hooch pulled up as they reached the opposite shore and Jack tracked her, swinging around the corner of the last tower and then down towards what was clearly a quidditch stadium. It wasn’t as stuffy as the private New England pitches, or as chaotically appealing as the Junkyard, but Jack was instantly fond of the faded, brightly colored wood and the ancient looking hoops just visible over the top of the walls. Jack pushed her broom harder, overtaking Hooch easily and soaring over the near wall. The stands were divided into quarters, the colors and heraldry of the four Hogwarts houses which she could, thanks to a lot of insomnia induced reading, now recognize easily.

“I still don’t get why the symbol for Ravenclaw is an eagle,” Jack said as Hooch pulled up alongside her, tossing the quaffle absently into the air and catching it again.

“Because every single founder was a bloody mental git that’s why,” Hooch said chucking the quaffle at Jack who caught it with an exstatic grin.

“They most certainly were not!” McGonagall shouted, having completed a lap of the pitch and one swoop around the hoops.

“Godric Gryffindor appointed a hat to make lasting determinations about the character of eleven year olds, Salazar Slytherin was a blood purist who trapped a mad serpent in the dungeons, Rowena Ravenclaw was an intellectual sadist and….well I suppose Hufflepuff wasn’t so bad, but she went along with the rest of them which seems to me to make her just as loony as they were,” Hooch said catching the quaffle one handed as Jack threw it back to her.

“They also founded the finest school of magic in the world and hats know more about most eleven-year-olds than they do,” McGonagall said hovering just in front of the center hoop, “Now are we going to play before it gets dark or did we fly all the way here for a debate on relative moralism?”

Hooch whipped the quaffle at the right hoop. McGonagall laughed and batted it away without even breaking eye contact with her wife.

“I hope you’re better than her Jack,” McGonagall shouted downward as Jack dove to retrieve the quaffle. Hooch cursed.

“You just wait, you should have seen her fly in New York, I hope you took your pills,” Hooch laughed. Jack beamed silently as she turned her broom around.

“Well get on with it then girl, try to score,” McGonagall said, watching Jack with open amusement.

Jack flew level with McGonagall, tucking the quaffle under her right arm with her left hand, she leaned back far as she dared and looked the older woman up and down.

“You stopped playing because you hurt yourself?” Jack asked leaning her head ever so slightly leftwards, McGonagall was clearly favoring her right side. She was balanced and obviously quick to react but she was leaning, just the slightest bit to her right, it was protective.

“I was injured yes,” McGonagall said sharply, raising an eyebrow at Jack, it was unclear if it was because she felt the question was rude or she was simply playing back.

“You fell? Or was it a bludger?” Jack asked, letting herself drift, just the slightest bit again to the left.

“Both, first the latter, then the former. Do you know how to throw that?” McGonagall asked, a grin widening on her sharp face. Jack grinned back.

“A little,” she said jerking her broomstick hard left this time, McGonagall corrected her coverage accordingly and Jack let the quaffle roll into her right hand, pulled it and fired at the right hoop without missing a beat.

McGonagall, rolled in the air and managed to kick the throw away just before it sailed through.

“You’re right handed dear, I watched you write all morning remember?” McGonagall asked coming out of the roll with a broad smile, “And I fell on my left side I’ll have you know.”

“You faked that?” Jack asked with a look of mock indignation on her face, a small appreciative smile threatening to break through.

“Best keeper I’ve ever practiced with,” Hooch said retrieving the quaffle and taking a quick shot at the left hoop, McGonagall caught the quaffle handily and tossed it out to Jack.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she said with a wide smile. Jack returned it.

“Okay, let’s play,” Jack said tossing the quaffle in the air and readjusting herself in her stirrups. _Bout to lose that one good hip._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“This is ridiculous!” Jack shouted. She was out of breath; she’d been spinning, wheeling, diving, feigning and deking for over an hour, and she had scored twice on McGonagall. Hooch had scored three times but the number of saves the Deputy Headmistress had made was staggering. Sue on her best day saved about eighty percent of practice goals. McGonagall had shut her out completely for the first twenty-five minutes and Jack must have made three dozen tries.

“Ridiculous skills, little miss, ridiculous skills,” McGonagall said with an unusually loud laugh. She’d been openly reveling in making Jack sweat, Hooch raised an eyebrow in shock.

“Minerva did you put something in that tea? You’re manic,” she asked taking a quick shot at the center hoop and cursing when McGonagall kicked it gleefully away.

“I am a sixty-year-old school teacher, you are both professional quidditch players, or used to be, and I’m running the pitch on you. Just let me have this,” McGonagall said staring Hooch down with the widest, least serious smile Jack thought she had ever seen.

“Oh I’m going to let you have it old woman! You!” Hooch shouted, wide grin on her face as she pointed at Jack, “Huddle up.”

Jack shot down the pitch after Hooch coming to stop just in front of the Slytherin bleachers.

“How are you not tired, I’m exhausted,” Jack said. Hooch wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulder. Pulling her and her broom up alongside hers. Jack wasn’t sure what the point of the secrecy was, McGonagall was more than half a pitch away.

“Breakfast, black coffee, two portions of bacon and a light porridge, you’ll never be tired again. Now Miss All England over there—”

“I am Scottish, and you know it, Xiomora Hooch!”

“—thinks she’s got my number we are going to show her she’s wrong!” Hooch was grinning so wide it was almost frightening, especially as she grabbed Jack by the robes and dragged her back another 20 feet. Jack had wanted to play quidditch more than anything in the world only an hour ago but she was starting to doubt her ability to keep up, which was sort of depressing.

“Coordinated attack, that’s our best option. I’ll feign, you fire sounds good?” Hooch asked. Jack, who was still trying to figure out what constituted light porridge, nodded dumbly, then grabbed the sleeve of Hooch’s robe.

“Wait! You know her better shouldn’t you take the shot?” Jack asked, letting her eyes flit to the goal posts where McGonagall was circling ominously, like a giant emerald vulture.

“I trust you,” Hooch said after a moment, with a judicious nod. “Besides, I thought you were criminally under-utilized in that exhibition, I’d be an utter hypocrite to hold you back now. Minerva will be expecting me to shoot anyway, perfect plan; you fly in front make her think you’re going to pass it back to me I’ll break off at the last second you fire right yes?”

She’d said it all so quickly that Jack wasn’t sure she’d heard it correctly, there seemed to be at least two compliments in there that she wasn’t sure what to do with. Hooch took off back down the pitch and Jack took off after her, leapfrogging in front and holding the quaffle in front of her, between her knees the perfect position for a backward pass.

McGonagall hovered, almost perfectly still in front of the center hoop, staring Jack down with that determined steely glint she had when she was concentrating or highly annoyed. Jack swallowed, she’d decided she liked manic, competitive Hooch since she seemed to like her more than normal Hooch but competitive McGonagall was actually frightening to look at as she flew towards her at top speed.

“Now!” Hooch shouted behind her as they closed to within fifty feet of the hoops, Jack sat up straight, clutching the quaffle tightly in her right hand she faked a toss over her left shoulder, Hooch broke left immediately and Jack jagged right, watching McGonagall follow Hooch on instinct. Jack pulled the quaffle from behind her shoulder and soft tossed it through the right hoop as Hooch let out a vicious cry of victory, pointing over McGonagall’s shoulder with a triumphant smile on her face.

“I’m so proud of you dear, you’ve finally learned to share,” McGonagall said with a look of unconvincing adoration at Hooch.

“I believe that we just beat you,” Jack said, trying to smile pleasantly as opposed to the Cheshire grin that Hooch was sporting.

“Oh aye love, now if only I hadn’t made about fifty saves since we’ve been out here the two of you would have the start of a heroic comeback,” McGonagall said with a wry smile.

“Last try wins Minerva. I’m starving, who wants food?” Hooch asked, not bothering to hide that she was changing the subject.

“Me!” Jack said raising her hand and feeling instantly foolish until Hooch slapped it in a high five.

“Excellent, I think considering our unequivocal and graceful victory that neither Jack nor I should have to cook and therefore I propose the Broomsticks,” Hooch said with an exaggerated bow in McGonagall’s direction.

“Your unequivocal and graceful victory?” McGonagall asked, stiffening on her broomstick and fighting a smile.

“Yes, and of course Minerva as always, you are the most gracious of losers, but as Jack and I have beat you soundl,y you are buying,” Hooch said turning her broom back towards Hogsmeade and beginning to glide at an easy pace. Jack dove to retrieve the quaffle from the ground as McGonagall tutted after Hooch.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After their historic victory, tensions between herself and Hooch seemed to ease. The next two weeks were an utter blur for Jack as, one by one, Hogwarts professors appeared at the little cottage to assess her skills. Herbology had gone well, though Professor Sprout had seemed preoccupied during the test. Hooch explained after that she’d been Cedric Diggory’s head of house. Jack could understand that. She’d been kind, and pleasant enough, she’d even smiled for a minute or so when Jack managed to get a clipping of Devil’s snare without getting throttled by it.

Care of Magical Creatures had gone fine, though Jack was disappointed that it hadn’t been Hagrid. She knew he’d only been gone a short while but she’d been hoping that he might’ve made it back in time. Professor Grubbly-Plank however had been very impressed by Jack’s handling of the niffler she’d brought, though she might have felt differently if she’d noticed Jack had nickel plated buttons on her sweater before the test began.

History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts had been written exams that McGonagall pulled from the school’s files as one was taught by a ghost, and apparently the other wasn’t taught by anyone. Hooch had insisted on Jack showing her counter jinxes and basic defense spells, she had not looked pleased by the results but McGonagall had pointed out that they had all summer to practice and that Jack knew enough to pass the exam.

Jack, being unsure which elective courses she should choose, had received assessments in almost all that were available and had finally decided upon Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies, which had sent Sadie into a three page long rant about how Jack ought to know everything there was to know about Muggles by now as she’d lived with a muggle-born and a half blood for over a year.

McGonagall had given her five galleons spending money and the afternoon off from studying when she’d said not to bother sending for the Divination professor as she was about as clairvoyant as your average potato. Time which Jack had used, wisely she thought to begin sorting through the teetering monoliths of books at the Hogsmeade book shop. She had found several more interesting books on British Wizarding History including a fascinating, if somewhat offensive treatise on American Wizarding Culture written just after the Revolution by a wizard that had shadowed the redcoats at Lexington and Concord. Jack had been forced to write a rebuttal, to Sadie, who couldn’t have possibly cared less.

_Just one left tomorrow, and then I can start actually studying._ she wrote, it was almost midnight. Jack had finished reading through the most advanced textbook she could find in the house and had finally been persuaded by Sadie to give her brain a break.

_What is it?_ Sadie wrote back, Jack knew she had to be sick of hearing about it at this point but smiled at her friend’s persistence.

_Charms, apparently this one is double important because it’s taught by my head of house. So, you know, no pressure._ Jack scribbled, Macha cawed loudly from atop the crossbeam where she’d made her perch she was clearly getting annoyed with all the late nights. Jack reached over to the nightstand and plucked a couple pieces of dry dog food out of a covered dish, tossing it to the floor below her crow in apology. Macha clicked her beak, still annoyed, but clearly placated as she flapped to the floor to snack.

_Is that like a student dean?_

_Kind of? McGonagall explained it, basically if I do anything wrong he owns my ass and if I need anything I’m supposed to go to him._ Jack wrote back, Macha hopped onto the end of the bed, preening her feathers and dislodging kibble crumbs all over the quilt.

_I feel bad for that guy, you are a champion whiner._

Jack flipped off the notebook, she knew Sadie would have no idea she’d done it. But she’d found it was the most satisfying response.

_Just one more thing I’m better at than you._ She wrote back, with a wide grin.

_Whatever loser, in other news guess who has a THIRD date?_

Jack rolled her eyes, Sadie had actually had a good time with that girl Keysha set her up with, and Becca had been the bane of her existence ever since.

_So what you’re saying is you paid for everything on the first two dates?_ Jack wrote trying not to smile as she did it, she shouldn’t enjoy shooting down Sadie’s love life but somehow it always made her feel better.

_Actually Key spotted dinner the first time so technically no, but don’t think I didn’t understand the implication. Did I mention that she-_

Jack groaned at Macha as the letters skittered across the page. Becca’s virtues were being extolled again.

It wasn’t meant to be a punishment, Sadie was just excited but Jack couldn’t help but feel it was some kind of bizarre karmic retribution. She glanced back down at the page, she was still going. The word “perfect” was getting thrown out a lot, it made Jack’s head hurt, three hours with Becca and she was “perfect”, Sadie could be about ten years old sometimes.

_Not that I’m not riveted but I have an exam tomorrow so, I think I have to cut you off. Could I hear about the shape of her nail beds tomorrow by any chance?_ Jack wrote when the writing paused. Jack smirked a little bit at the image of Sadie hunched over the notebook, shaking out the cramp in her fingers as she tried to come up with another synonym for beautiful.

There was a long pause, it really must have been an impressive cramp.

_Jack I’m supposed to tell you something, and I probably should have said it first._

Jack’s heart fluttered madly for just a moment, this was never good, serious Sadie was never good.

_Your mother came to the junkyard yesterday looking for you, and then she came to the apartment last night. Myra gave her the cover story, and I gave it to her again. But I don’t think she bought it and Myra doesn’t either._ Sadie’s letters were shakier than normal, like just thinking about it had rattled her all over again.

Jack’s breath quickened, that peculiar tight feeling in her chest was back, creeping toward her throat.

_What is the cover story?_ Jack asked, hoping dearly that Hooch had given them one and they hadn’t come up with it on their own. The only person on the team who could lie worth a damn was Loretta.

_That you were really shaken up after your fall against the Harpies and you took medical leave. That you went to stay with someone you’d met at the World Cup but none of us know their name or address. The idea was to get her halfway to Canada but I don’t think it worked._

_Of course it didn’t work Sadie that’s a terrible lie!_ Jack scratched out onto the page, her fingers were shaking, it made it difficult to write straight, _Who came up with that? My mother knows damn well I didn’t move to Canada in one night! It took me three weeks to talk myself out of just apparating to Brooklyn every day from home!_

_Hey it wasn’t any of us, Myra said it came from your new friends over there, they even wrote it down separately in sealed envelopes for us all. It was weird._ Sadie scribbled quickly in response.

_Come on Sadie, none of them know me! None of you thought, hey that doesn’t sound like Jack maybe we should say something?!_ Jack wrote beginning to feel a bit like she was being choked.

_We did say something! We got told to wait to hear if it changed and that was two weeks ago, when she showed up Myra didn’t know what else to say so she just told the one she’d been given and then I couldn’t tell her something different without making her REALLY suspicious!_

Jack jumped off the bed, standing helped her focus, helped her try to drive the panic back, she began pacing holding the journal in a shaky hand.

_And you didn’t think to mention any of this I don’t know YESTERDAY!? THIS MORNING!? WHENEVER THE FUCK IT IS THAT IT HAPPENED?!_ she scribbled, frowning at the unevenness of the letters, though she wasn’t sure why she should care, she wanted to go for pages, she wanted to find more and more things to be angry about, she wanted to scream and hit something and run all at the same time.

_Look I wasn’t-_ Sadie scratched out the words almost as soon as they were formed.

_Myra said not to tell you, that she was supposed to tell someone there and they would say it but then Lorettta told me to tell you, that you had to know and Key and Sue agreed and then we decided I should say something but I still wasn’t sure I should and then-_

“What is going on up here?” Hooch’s voice rose clearly behind Jack’s back, she’d been facing the window, away from the ladder and hadn’t heard her coming.

“Nothing,” Jack said with the suddenness of a child caught red handed with a forbidden pack of sweets. She spun to face Hooch, clasping the journal behind her back and praying to nothing in particular that Hooch hadn’t already seen it.

“Nothing? You’re pacing back and forth like a caged bear I could hear you from the kitchen. Do you know it’s nearly midnight and you’re right over Minerva’s head?” Hooch asked, annoyance warring with concern on her face.

“I-I’m sorry I was just,” Jack paused searching for a believable lie, she’d always been terrible at this, her mother had always known when she wasn’t telling the truth.

“Reading, I was reading and it was,” Jack began, licking her lips and darting her eyes towards the bookcase, the journal still clutched tight to the small of her back, “I was reading Hogwarts a History and there was this really upsetting um, this really upsetting part…about…Slytherin it was really…bad… and my mom was a Slytherin and I guess…” Jack stammered again, the word wasn’t coming.

Hooch had crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, neither of these were promising signs.

“I guess it just brought up some…” Jack scanned the room, looking for something, anything to inspire, “stuff…” she said, wincing at the lameness of it.

“That looked agonizing never try to lie again,” Hooch said smirking as she took two steps forward and held out her hand.

“Give it here,” she said, shrugging a shoulder and smiling bemusedly at Jack who backed away on instinct.

“It’s…private,” Jack said backing into the footboard of the bed and nearly fumbling the journal altogether. Hooch frowned.

“If I didn’t know better I might assume it was some sort of scandalous magazine,” Hooch said with a knowing grin and a nod at Jack’s still firmly hidden hand.

“That’s what it is,” Jack said, seizing the life preserver, “It is a…a-adult entertainment publication with lots of pictures of naked women in it.”

Hooch stared at her, “Jack I said, ‘If I didn’t know better’. I saw the book,” she said, the grin on her face flattening in disbelief.

“It’s…” Jack started cursing her panic, why was this so hard? Then it hit her, Loretta always said the best lies were mostly true, “It’s my journal,” she said, calming as she said it. This was much easier and Hooch certainly wouldn’t want a closer look at a teenagers unfiltered thoughts.

“Your journal is what had you pacing and clearly in a state of panic when I walked in?” Hooch asked, the disbelief still in her voice.

“Yes, I am…disturbing,” Jack said leaning heavily against the bed, convinced she had finally found safe harbor.

“You really need to think faster on your feet girl what is in that book?” Hooch asked holding her hand out impatiently again.

“It’s my journal I said so,” Jack asked, squinting her eyes to look annoyed rather than petrified. Hooch hated the petulant teenager thing, it might just work.

“I heard you, it was also a lie now give it here before I am forced to take it from you.” Hooch said, her voice was calm and perfectly even there was no longer even a hint of mirth in it. Jack considered just handing it to her, that would end this quickly and without magic which was good.

On the other hand, Hooch would almost certainly not allow her to keep it, which meant no more talking to Sadie, which was the only thing keeping Jack from soaking the pillow through every night before bed.

“No,” Jack said, pulling her right hand out from behind her back and letting it rest at her pocket, where her wand was.

“Girl, do not,” Hooch said putting her hand into her own pocket.

“Don’t call me girl,” Jack said flicking her eyes towards Macha who was hopping anxiously along the crossbeam above them.

“Who gave you the book?” Hooch asked her eyes locked on Jack’s she’d taken a full step toward her when Jack’s eyes moved.

“None of your business, it’s mine,” Jack slipped her hand into the pocket of her jeans, staring Hooch down.

“It is in my house, books can be dangerous and you are going to give it to me I will not ask again,” Hooch’s hand slid torturously slow from the pocket of her robes and Jack pulled her own. Her hand was shaking and she clutched the wand so tightly she was half convinced she would snap it in her fingers if Hooch so much as twitched.

“I’m not an idiot! Why can’t you just trust me?” Jack shouted.

“What on earth is going on?” McGonagall crested the top of the ladder, wrapped tightly in a tartan dressing gown. Jack’s eyes moved to the sound of her voice.

Jack hit the headboard before she’d even registered that she was in the air. Somehow she’d managed to cover her head with her hands as she flopped to the mattress with nothing more than a slightly bruised shoulder. _IDIOT_ she thought bitterly, her face flushing pink.

“Accio book.” Hooch said lazily, the journal, which Jack hadn’t even noticed she dropped flew from the foot of her bed to Hooch’s hand.

“Xiomara!” McGonagall shouted, rushing to the bed she grabbed Jack by the shoulder, prying her hands off of her head to inspect her scalp for injury. Macha had swooped down on Hooch and was attempting to peck at her head.

“Not now Min,” Hooch said, Jack looked up at her, seething as Hooch aimed her wand, “Locomotor mortis,” Macha dropped the four feet to the ground and began cawing angrily. Hooch ignored her as she flipped the cover of the journal open and scanned the page.

“Give it back!” Jack shouted trying to stand off of the bed, not sure if she was going to go for Hooch or to her very angry bird, McGonagall had her by the shirt and she held her down firmly.

“Stay sitting,” McGonagall commanded giving first her right and then her left shoulder a firm squeeze, Jack winced when the fingers pressed into the bruise and McGonagall clucked her tongue at her. “Does it hurt anywhere else?” she asked scanning Jack’s front as if she were going to find the aches and bruises highlighted in neon on her clothes.

“Yeah I’ve got a huge limey pain in my ass!” Jack spat nodding at Hooch, she tried to stand up again. This time McGonagall pushed her back down less gently.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Hooch asked looking stony faced up from the journal.

Jack felt, for the shortest of moments, a slight twinge of shame. She’d disappointed her again. It was however quickly replaced by the familiar swell of panic and rage.

“I-“ she started, her mouth twisting into an angry snarl.

“No, you know what I don’t even care, I would ask you what you’ve told her but I have been lied to quite enough already. That is why I can’t trust you, and if you have told this scatterbrained-“

“DON’T YOU DARE!“ Jack shouted, pushing past McGonagall’s attempts to hold her to the bed as she leveled her wand at Hooch who raised hers to meet it.

“You have at best, put her and a number of other people in danger AGAIN. I am not interested in some vain show of chivalry now. You have at worst been telling someone you don’t know secrets. For all we know you’ve been talking to your dear mother these last few weeks and-“ Hooch didn’t finish the thought as Jack raised her wand over her shoulder not even sure which curse was going to fly past her lips.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

Jack and Hooch’s wands both flew out of their hands and landed with a clatter at Minerva McGonagall’s slippered feet.

“Minerva no! This time I am GOING to tell her off, this was dangerous and stupid and-“

“That is quite enough out of you,” McGonagall said, her voice so high and so strained that even Macha went silent. Her eyes were little more than livid slits and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her fists clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.

If Hooch sensed the danger, she was far braver than Jack.

“WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS THING IS OR WHO IT CAME FROM!” Hooch roared, swinging the book wildly as she yelled.

“I DO!” Jack shouted back at her.

“Enough!” McGonagall said sharply holding out her hand, “Give it to me and go wait downstairs.”

Hooch looked as though she’d been slapped, the red in her cheeks darkening almost to purple in fury.

“Don’t bother,” McGonagall said, her voice icy and forbidding. Jack sat down on the bed, this was going to be bad, but maybe if she kept her temper now McGonagall would go easy on her.

“Minerva, I know you, you’ll go soft on her and we can’t afford to-“ Hooch said, straining to keep her voice down, her eyes were wide and every word sounded like it was being spit into existence.

“I won’t be flinging her into walls,” McGonagall snarled, staring Hooch down, “Go downstairs and wait for me in the kitchen.”

Hooch stood as tall as she could, which was not, as far as Jack was concerned, terribly impressive in the face of her angry wife.

“I am not a ch-“ Hooch began her jaw square and set as a block of granite.

“NO,” McGonagall shouted at last, “You are not! You are an adult, an adult who just used magic to fling a child across the room, and I cannot conceive of circumstances where I could possibly be more furious with you. I cannot believe that, given what I can only assume that journal is, that I am angrier with you right now than I am with her,” McGonagall gestured to Jack with her wand. Jack winced.

Hooch stared wide eyed at McGonagall. Jack stared too.

“Give me that book, go downstairs and just be grateful you have a few minutes to collect your thoughts in what had better be the finest piece of persuasive oratory I have EVER heard,” McGonagall snapped, she held out her hand again and after a long moment, Hooch deposited the journal dutifully and turned to leave, she shot Jack one last reproachful look as she began her descent of the ladder.

“Finite incantatum,” McGonagall said softly, pointing her wand at Macha who had gone all but unnoticed these last few minutes. The crow hopped angrily to her feet, hopped the six feet to the trapdoor and the ladder, spread her wings and fluttered after Hooch.

McGonagall turned her attention to the journal in her hands, she still hadn’t looked at Jack. Jack was overwhelmed with the urge to say something, apologize profusely, make excuses, break down in tears and confess how much the journal meant to her. Based on McGonagall’s face these all seemed equally pointless.

McGonagall opened the journal and began to read, she was flipping the pages very quickly. There was no recognizable reaction on her face. Jack, was both heartened and frightened at the realization. Either it wasn’t making her angry, or she could not actually be any angrier than she already was.

They were in silence this way for barely two minutes before McGonagall snapped the journal shut with one hand and looked at Jack. Jack, hunched her shoulders and leaned into the head board, trying to make herself seem as small as possible.

“Where’s your quill?” McGonagall asked. Jack pointed to the bedside table.

McGonagall held the journal out to her, “Tell her you’re allright please.”

Jack took the journal and flipped the journal open to the last marked page. Sadie had clearly panicked when Jack stopped responding, there was almost two full pages of threats, bribes, epithets and flat out begging scribbled in increasingly erratic lettering, Jack didn’t have time to read it all.

_Sadie, don’t freak. They caught me with the journal and, I don’t have time to explain this right now but-_ Jack paused, looking up at McGonagall who was not bothering to hide the fact that she was staring at the words as Jack wrote them. This could be the last time Jack ever used the journal, the last time for a long while that she could speak to Sadie and Jack decided it was worth the invasion of privacy to say what she needed to.

_I don’t know if I’ll be able to talk to you anymore, I just want you to know that I could not have made it through these last couple-_

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” McGonagall sighed. She sat on the bed next to Jack, “You’re not being sent to the front girl. I’m not going to keep you from talking to your…friend, just tell her we didn’t skin you alive and you’ll fill her in in the morning.”

Jack stared at her. McGonagall gazed back expectantly. Jack looked down to the pages of the journal and watched as Sadie spouted relief and anger at her reappearance.

“Go on, I’d recommend an apology while you’re at it,” McGonagall said, giving Jack a pointed nod.

Jack did as she was told, and then without waiting for a response, closed the journal and handed it back to McGonagall who was holding out her hand expectantly.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to take it?” Jack said as McGonagall examined the cover of the journal in her hand.

“I’m not, at least not permanently. Tomorrow morning I’m going to do some tests, be sure it’s clear of dark magic and perhaps put a few protections in place,” she said turning the journal over and fingering a corner where the leather was pulling away from the backing.

“I didn’t tell her where the cottage was,” Jack said quickly. She looked up at McGonagall’s face, if this placated her at all she didn’t show it.

“I know dear, I read it. You know, if you’d just said something about this-“ she held the journal up, “We could have done this all weeks ago and this wouldn’t have happened.”

Jack looked at her shoes, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know about it until I unpacked, and then I was afraid you’d take it away from me, like my wand and my pet and my name and my…everything else,” she said, her shoulders hunched again.

McGongall sighed and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“I think I forget sometimes, what it feels like to have everyone making decisions about your life without asking you anything,” she paused, looked at the ceiling and sighed again, “Then I remember that I work for Albus Dumbledore, and I think I may have just gotten so used to it I don’t notice it anymore.”

Jack gave a weak grin at the joke, or at least what she hoped was a joke and McGonagall squeezed her uninjured shoulder lightly.

“Do you trust me?” McGonagall asked holding up the book again. Jack froze for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She thought she did, it seemed sort of difficult actually not to trust McGonagall.

“I think so?” Jack said, trying to force the weak grin into something more sincere looking.

“Good. Jack how can you see thestrals?” she asked.

Jack was a little startled by the question, it had been a while since someone had asked. It had been Myra actually, after Jack had commented on how pretty the mascot for Seattle was.

“Why?” she asked back, stalling to cover her own surprise, and not entirely sure she wanted to tell the story either.

“I’ve been curious since we saw Hagrid. I didn’t know you very well and didn’t want to pry but if we are going to trust each other, I think I should know a little more about you,” McGonagall said, straightening the tie on the tartan robe.

Jack licked her lips, a little nervous. McGonagall was looking at her expectantly, sitting so straight and so tall she might have had an iron rod down her back and for the first time since she’d sat on the bed, Jack was just a little intimidated.

“I saw one of our house elves die.” She said, hoping that this pronouncement would be enough.

“How old were you?” McGonagall asked, looking over her spectacles.

“I was nine,” she said looking at McGonagall hopefully. The older woman sniffed primly before responding.

“That’s young, to see a death and accept it enough. How did the elf die?” she asked, looking to Jack that same expectant look, like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for Jack to say it.

“What are you some kind of psychologist?” Jack asked, trying to laugh off the discomfort. McGonagall smiled.

“I am a teacher and a head of house, so yes, actually,” McGonagall said with a wry smile.

Jack looked at the journal in McGonagall’s hand, she’d never told this story out loud to anyone before, even Keysha and Sadie, actually sort of especially to Keysha and Sadie. For a moment she considered whether or not it wouldn’t actually be a better idea to just lie. Then reminded herself how very little success she’d had doing that so far in the cottage.

“My father…” she said, pausing to think, how she should say the next part. McGonagall nodded, confirming her own suspicions, and Jack felt a little surge of annoyance, or defensiveness at the presumption of the nod. McGonagall was almost certainly right, but that didn’t change anything.

“How?” McGonagall asked.

Jack looked down at the quilt on the bed, starting to trace the spiral stitching before clearing her throat.

“In um…in New England, we have kind of a weird fixation with…” Jack stopped again, McGonagall put a hand over the one Jack was running over the quilt and tilted her head, clearly wanting Jack to look at her. Jack found an even more fascinating pattern on the pillow case, “Hanging, we really like hanging…everything. At least the old families do.”

“We have a similar preoccupation with decapitation here I’m afraid,” McGonagall said with a small mirthless smile, “Why did your father kill the house elf? What did he do to displease him?” 

“Nothing,” Jack said, pulling back on the bed and beginning to pick at the stitching in the quilt, ignoring McGonagall’s hand completely.

“I’m sure you’re right, but what did your father think he’d done?” McGonagall asked, there was little sign in her voice that she acknowledged the subject was making Jack upset.

“It wasn’t a he, it was…we called her Nanny, I don’t know if she had like, a real name,” Jack said. She knew she hadn’t answered McGonagall’s question but the correction was important somehow and much easier to think about.

“She took care of you then?” McGonagall asked, stiffening up, seemingly something had finally offended her.

“Yeah, I mean she cooked and cleaned for everyone but she watched me more often than not, she told me stories,-“ Jack stopped again, Nanny had been the one to tell her about Dumbledore, scary stories about Dumbledore and there were others, Prewett, Moody, Longbottom, if the ones about Dumbledore weren’t true than…

“Had she gotten too old to take care of you?” McGonagall asked looking expectantly at Jack.

“No, she wasn’t that old, I mean she was…she was from here. She came over with my mother when she married my dad, and my mother used to say how…” Jack licked her lips, “How my grandfather loved her the most because her brother had gotten an old feeble elf when he moved out and he gave her a young one, barely an adult even.”

“Jack, why did he kill her?” McGonagall asked. Jack opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t. Her chest was tight again, the familiar humming of her own pulse in the back of her skull foretelling the attack.

“Me,” she spat before her breath started to come unevenly. McGonagall, put a hand on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing hard. Jack hissed a bit at the discomfort but couldn’t regain her breath enough to say anything. It was important, very important that she get it out though.

“I s-said, I s-s-said Dark Lord in front of-“ Jack wheezed and bent over, trying to get her lungs and her voice to cooperate. The bed was changing underneath her, it was a rug a dark blue rug with a bear on it…

“Jack it’s ok you don’t have to-“ McGonagall said, putting her hands on both of Jack’s shoulders. The rug faded, just for a moment.

“The lady from Misery academy,” Jack blurted out ignoring McGonagall’s attempt to shush her, “I almost got us in big trouble, really big trouble and he punished me for it. H-he grabbed her and my mother went to MYRA AND SADIE AND SHE KNOWS I’M GONE AND WHAT IF-”

McGonagall, who had been rubbing furious circles on Jack’s back froze, staring at her. Jack screwed her eyes shut and let the tears roll down her burning cheeks. Partly because she couldn’t stop it, partly because the quilt had been turning blue again, with a dark patch, an elf shaped dark patch with a thin line coming from the-

Jack was suddenly spinning, her back landed against something soft and there were long, thin but surprisingly strong arms wrapped tightly around her. She opened her eyes to find herself facing the headboard of the bed, pressed firmly into the front of McGonagall’s tartan dressing gown.

“Jack what are five things you can see right now?” McGonagall asked, gesturing to the room around them. Jack stared back over her shoulder at her, unbelieving, then remembered Hooch in the alleyway and did as she was told, craning her neck to see the attic she choked out or pointed to things until she had listed five.

“Five things you can hear.”

Jack obliged.

“Five things you can touch.”

Jack had to move a little bit, uneasily as the attack made her dizzy, but she said allowed or put a hand on five things.

“Five things you can smell.” 

This one threw Jack off a little but she managed it. McGonagall put a hand on Jack’s chest, just over her heart.

“Four things you can see.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Does that count as one thing though?” Jack asked a full twenty minutes later. It had gotten harder and harder to find new things to hear and smell even though McGonagall had assured her she could reuse things. Jack was stubborn that way.

“At least,” McGonagall said, removing her fingers from Jack’s pulse point and looking approvingly at her, satisfied that the problem had sorted itself.

“Do you think you’re calm enough to try to sleep?” McGonagall said looking pointedly at the ladder, “She must be nervous as a Unicorn at a stag party by now.”

Jack had extricated herself from McGonagall’s arms at about ‘Two things you can touch’, but wasn’t quite sure that she wanted the Deputy Headmistress to LEAVE just yet.

“Aren’t you going to feed me some line about how the whole thing wasn’t my fault?” Jack asked with what she hoped was a believably glib smile, “Or are you going to ask me to pack my bags in the morning because you know that it was?” she asked, the question had been much more serious than she’d intended it to be, but she was having a hard time keeping anything from falling out of her mouth at this point.

McGonagall looked at her appraisingly, trying to decide whether or not to say something. Jack wasn’t sure which decision she’d made when she finally spoke.

“Do I need to tell you that what your father did to that elf was monstrous?” McGonagall asked, for the first time since Jack had started breathing strangely, anger was obvious on her face, her nostrils were flaring and dipping with every shallow, livid breath she took. 

Jack considered for a moment, then shook her head.

“Is that why you were so nice to Dobby?” McGonagall asked. Jack shook her head again. It was definitely a factor. But for the most part it was just that she’d always felt more comfortable talking to House Elves than people, mostly because they had listened.

“He was nice to me,” Jack said, “They were all always nice to me.”

“Then I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault. Because you’re a smart girl, and shouldn’t need to be told what is plainly obvious. Your father is a piece of human rubbish who used the pain and suffering of another living thing to punish you. The fact that it clearly worked makes me believe that you are nothing at all like him,” McGonagall said in that high pitched, thin voice she used when she was particularly upset by something.

“And I am so sorry, that I didn’t say what I was going to do to your crow before I did it,” she added, her head drooping down towards her chest, eyes shut as if they were warding off an oncoming headache.

Jack shrugged and waved the apology off, trying to smile to show she was ok but knowing that it wasn’t really true.

“As for your mother, let me worry about that, but as soon as I know what we’re going to do I WILL tell you, you hear me?”

Jack looked up at her in fresh horror, she’d forgotten about that, how the hell had she FORGOTTEN about that.

McGonagall stood off of the bed and took the journal.

“I’ll have it back to you by dinner tomorrow.”

McGonagall gave her another brief squeeze on the shoulder, her long thin fingers digging into the bruise there in what was surprisingly, not an uncomfortable way. Then she turned to the ladder and disappeared down into the rest of the cottage and the slowly swelling cloud of pipe smoke wafting up from the kitchen. At this point Jack found the tobacco strangely comforting though she was sure that Hooch was going to catch hell for it, the thought made her smile to herself as she laid back against the pillow and thought seriously about attempting to sleep.

She rolled the left sleeve of her shirt up, examining the mark for the first time in days, she’d taken great pains to look at it as little as possible, even in the shower. Ignoring the middle, still angry and swollen looking even this long after it had exploded onto her skin. The edges were almost black now, the color of thickening blood.

“Fuck both of you,” Jack said out loud, though she knew that Tabitha and Jarephal could not hear her. Then she stood from the bed and went to the bookshelf, looking for something interesting to find clutched to her chest when she woke in the morning.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Before we begin, is there anything you would like to say?” McGonagall asked as she sat, calmly, pointedly in the thickest part of the plume of smoke engulfing her kitchen. 

“I shouldn’t have thrown her across the room, though you did petrify her within minutes of seeing her face,” Hooch said sullenly around the stem of the pipe, she was arranging and rearranging a stack of playing cards, an old habit that Minerva saw her do only when she was truly miserable.

“I didn’t know what she was then. You do know now, don’t you?” Minerva asked. Her voice was still even, tired and almost sad. Hooch wasn’t sure exactly what to make of that. She had expected a screaming tirade, had heard no shouting almost at all from upstairs, a lot of crying and hushed, urgent voices but very little shouting.

“I do, and I’m sorry, I’ll apologize to her in the morning.” 

“Good.I’m letting her keep the journal,” Minerva said flatly. Hooch looked up from her cards slowly, the glint of anger returning to her face.

“Xiomara, I understand why you’re upset. But I’m convinced it’s really her friend, and Jack is not twelve years old,” Minerva said, putting an imperious hand on Hooch’s knee. This was always the final nail in the coffin, a signal to her wife that there would be no discussion.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Hooch asked bristling at such a finality laid out so soon into the fight, or at least what she had expected to be a fight.

“Because you looked at her and you didn’t see her, you were thinking about Ginny Weasley. Which is why, I would suggest you agree, you acted the way you did.”

Hooch stared at her, she wasn’t of course, completely wrong. The chamber of secrets had almost been an utter disaster and when Minerva had told Xio how it had come to be that way it had haunted her for weeks. She liked the youngest Weasley she was a bright, spitfire of a thing and looked to be just as good a flier as her siblings. Hooch had taken an immediate shine to the idea that Ginny would outshine Charlie, Fred and George. When it appeared as if that future was not to be she had crumbled, in a way that she could not remember crumbling since before Harry Potter had erased, in a night, what she and every other British witch and wizard of her generation had been fighting what felt like all their lives.

“Xio, one of these days you’re going to talk to me, like last time. You know I love you, and would never, ever think less of you for being just as scared as I am,” Minerva said sitting forward and planting a small kiss at Hooch’s temple.

“When you’re done ruining my wallpaper, come to bed?”

Hooch nodded.

“I love you too,” she said quietly as Minerva walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.


	7. Employers and Imposters

“Very good, very good,” Professor Flitwick said as Jack lowered her wand, and the rosebushes stopped cleaning the gutters on the little cottage.

Jack had been nervous and exhausted that morning when the tiny wizard had appeared in the fireplace, shaking the soot off and already reaching for the cup of tea that McGonagall had waiting for him. Jack was still stinging from the night before, though Hooch had apologized and meant it as far as Jack could tell – But she had spent a great deal of time lying awake on the bed in the attic, considering her unfathomable stupidity, and while the apology was appreciated, it didn’t negate the conclusion Jack had come to before drifting off into an uneasy, brief sleep.

Hooch had been right; she had put Sadie in danger. She had put McGonagall and Hooch in danger. This was undeniable. Considering what she had poured out to McGonagall the night before, one would have thought that Jack might’ve learned a lesson in what she said and to whom. She had put her own selfish desire for comfort from home before the purpose of her being here in the first place, to keep her, and everyone around her, as safe as possible. Breakfast had been a tense, if conciliatory, exercise and the prospect of meeting her head of house, a distinction she still didn’t entirely understand, didn’t exactly help Jack regain her sense of equilibrium. 

Flitwick had proven to be friendlier in the daylight and away from the imminent threat of attack. He had given Jack the second shortest written exam and then insisted they go outside for the practical since it was turning out to be such a nice morning, and Jack had happily agreed. It hadn’t taken long for her to relax as everything she’d done thus far had earned her a pleased smile and even a few impressed rounds of short applause. Jack decided she liked her new head of house in record time.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with Professor Marchbanks; I had seventh years that couldn’t have shown that kind of precision.” Flitwick said. He was sitting on a garden bench in the middle of McGonagall’s herb garden with his third cup of tea.

“Thank you…Professor,” Jack said with a delayed grin. She still wasn’t used to the formality of it.

“So, now that that’s out of the way. I assume you have some questions for me?” he asked, taking an almost funnily cautious sip of his tea. He’d scalded his mouth on the last cup and cursed Hooch’s stinginess with the milk after she’d left.

Jack did have questions, though not many she thought it likely he could answer. Hogwarts was becoming less of a mystery to her the more she read. The bookshop in town had more than a few volumes beyond _Hogwarts a History,_ including several revealing memoirs by previous headmasters and governors, which had explained things a bit more neatly than either Hooch or McGonagall. Jack suspected that meant they were probably wrong, but arming herself with research had never failed to ease her mind before.

It was the other questions, the ones about her parents and the other Death Eaters, that were on her mind today, and Filius Flitwick didn’t seem like the person to ask, at least not yet. He knew, of course, who she really was and what she was doing here, but that didn’t seem enough of a reason to trust him fully. For now, it seemed better to keep the conversation relatively light. Jack pocketed her wand and sat on the bench opposite Flitwick.

“Ok, so I get Gryffindor, and I get Slytherin, y’know brave and daring versus ambitious and kinda dickish. Hufflepuff seems to be just like, normal people- “Jack began.

“There is nothing normal about Hufflepuff, I mean that in the nicest way, of course,” Flitwick interjected with a small smile. Jack returned it.

“But professor, Ravenclaw is just…smart? All I ever read about Ravenclaw house is that it’s full of a bunch of snotty know it alls who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire depending on your class rank.”

Flitwick laughed, “I can’t actually deny that completely, there are some of us who are shamefully competitive. Personally, I like to think of Ravenclaw as the house of common sense. Some people will tell you it’s Hufflepuff, but they’re wrong,” he added with a nod.

“Yeah but, I mean everything I read seems to say that Ravenclaw overthink things or can’t see obvious things because they need to have a complicated problem and…”

“Wrong, utterly wrong. Ravenclaws find the answer. That’s it,” he punctuated the statement with his teacup, sloshing the cooling tea over the side and across his fingers. It didn’t even slow him down. “First lesson, there is no wrong way to think, there is no wrong way to learn and there is no wrong way to approach a problem. You will usually have to try several to puzzle it out. Ravenclaw ignore obvious questions because they’re obvious even if they’re only obvious to them, they’re boring. But nothing will drive a Ravenclaw mad faster than a lack of basic common sense. You live with Xiomara Hooch yes?” Flitwick asked. Jack wasn’t sure she followed the train of thought but nodded.

“How many times has she called you a ‘Bloody Ravenclaw’ so far?” he asked leaning forward expectantly. Jack grinned.

“Lost count,” she said.

“I gave up at five hundred and sixty-four, in her second-year teaching,” Flitwick said with a nostalgic smile and then following it with a conspiratorial wink, “I’ve never understood why we stuck to brooms after the statute of secrecy was passed, and racing brooms don’t exactly look like muggle ones do they? So, there’s no value in their mundane appearance, they have very little aerodynamic advantage, when you look at an aero plane, for example, muggles have far exceeded our understanding of- oh dear, I was trying to say something profound and I’ve lost the thread,” he said, his face falling. Jack blinked twice, honestly sad that he’d stopped talking.

“Ravenclaws point out obvious flaws in day to day things because they see them. Whereas others take the status quo for granted without wondering if it can be improved?” Jack asked, nodding helpfully.

Flitwick beamed at her.

“Like how it is glaringly obvious that Scottish students shouldn’t have to go to London first- “Jack began, feeling emboldened. Flitwick held up a hand.

“There we must disagree, I have been asked many times and have given it a great deal of thought; the system is perfect as it is,” Flitwick said with an authoritative nod.

Jack’s mouth fell open in stunned surprise.

“It is glaringly obvious,” he repeated back to her, “if the question is ‘What is the easiest way to get all Hogwarts students to the school for start of term’, yours is the right answer. It is the obvious question and the obvious response. However, the BEST answer, is the right answer, to the right question,” he said smiling.

Jack’s face wrinkled in places she hadn’t been sure that it could. Luckily this plainly advertised to Flitwick that further explanation was needed.

“It is a logistical monstrosity; however, the question is not, what is the easiest way,” he said, “The question should be, what is the best way. When you ask, _what is the best way,_ convenience and expediency are not the only factors to be considered. In fact, it is now to consider whether there is any inherent value in them at all.”

Jack stared at the little wizard, her head was starting to hurt, but she didn’t want him to stop talking. She was actually interested what he was going to say next.

“What is of more value?” he continued, “Logistical efficiency, or a few hours on a train with your friends? Or for that matter, which is the easier transition? An eleven-year-old walking into a medieval castle alone and possibly frightened, or an eleven-year-old walking into a medieval castle with a small group of others all facing the same thing, who’ve all voiced their apprehensions and their excitement. Imagine the muggle born student, how crucial that time is for them.” He said, sitting back and looking very pleased with himself, “Knowledge isn’t just knowing the right answer, it also is knowing the value of that answer, when the best answer is the WRONG answer because it is more valuable than the right one – does that make sense?” he asked, looking eagerly over his teacup.

Jack honestly wasn’t sure.

“I might be too dumb to be a Ravenclaw,” she said, giving a weak grin.

Flitwick glared at her, “No you are not, and never call yourself stupid in front of me again, there will always be someone willing to put you down. Don’t do it for them, and if you can, make them get creative. They hate that.”

Jack sat back, surprise writ large on her face. Self-deprecation was a useful social tool. At least she had always found it to be so. Also, she wasn’t at all sure what Flitwick had meant by ‘get creative’.

“You passed all your assessments I’m sure, Minerva tells me you are exceedingly bright,” Flitwick said. Jack blushed a little at the compliment.

“I don’t know about- “she began, then stopped, the little wizard had fixed her with that angry glare again.

“You want proof?” he asked.

Jack hesitated, it felt like a trick, but she nodded just the same.

“So, let’s consider your situation, your problem. Why not just give you one big written and then hand you off to the examiner? Why have every professor come out to the cottage and meet you in person and spend time with you? For that matter why send you to school as a student at all? Hogwarts has hundreds of rooms we could have hid you in with no scholarly effort on your part. It would certainly be easier to keep students from accidentally learning your identity if they don’t know you exist, so why is this the best way?” he asked, that expectant, eager look on his face again.

This time Jack truly wasn’t sure what to say. She’d been making the same arguments for weeks on just this very point. She picked at the hem of her t-shirt for a moment, then thought about what he was asking again.

“Because there’s something of value? I don’t know,” Jack said with an embarrassed shake of her head. She felt stupid all of a sudden, there was clearly something she was missing.

“I do not accept I don’t know,” Flitwick said, finishing off his tea with one enthusiastic gulp, “never say I don’t know.”

Jack blushed, embarrassed, and looked down at the ground. Flitwick cleared his throat.

“You just don’t know YET,” he said, Jack looked up and he was smiling again, clearly pleased with this little piece of pedagogy. It was a corny line, but Jack found she did actually feel better.

“How has it been here?” he asked, his voice suddenly soft, full of pity that made Jack want to refuse an answer and spill her guts out like she had with McGonagall at the same time.

“Fine, I mean- “Jack stopped herself, glancing towards the cottage. Neither McGonagall or Hooch were in earshot as far as she could tell.

“Minerva said Xio’s been very hard on you,” Flitwick said with a small knowing smile. Jack nodded, so happy that he had said it instead of her that she didn’t even scoff at the understatement. Then the thought of what she had done dimmed her momentary joy at finding an ally. She looked at the ground; she wouldn’t tell him what it had been. McGonagall had made it very clear that morning at breakfast that no one but the three of them were to know of the journal’s existence. But, she thought there might not be much harm in opening up…a little.

“She’s not wrong to, I’m not really used to …this,” she said with a weak smile.

“Do you really think that you should be?” Flitwick asked. The bright white of his mustache ticking upward in a smirk.

“I guess not, I…I’m just not used to feeling like a prisoner,” she said pulling her wand out and pointing it at a patch of small pebbles lining the walk in the garden. She set them to playing leapfrog.

“Miss Mc…Gonagall, I think the problem is that you know exactly how that feels,” Flitwick said, pointing his own wand at the stones and making them stack and crumble based on size, then color, then reversed. Jack just stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, forcing a small laugh.

“Many wizards went to Azkaban after the first war. Many that had never been in trouble before went with quiet arrogance, unafraid of the unknown, still threatening their captors,” Flitwick paused, made the stones form an irregular pyramid.

“The ones that had spent time there before He Who Must Not Be Named released them? They screamed, they fought, they bit their guards, they tried to steal aurors wands to hex themselves. The proudest, most vicious of them begged for any other punishment,” he said with a long look at Jack, “then there was, oddly enough, your relative, I believe.”

Jack’s eyes snapped to Flitwick’s face, the mirthful smile he’d sported while describing Ravenclaw house and bending her brains into noodles was gone.

“When they sent Willem Macnair, excuse me Walden Sr.’s younger brother I believe, it was his third time in Azkaban. He stood and faced the waiting Dementors and followed them meekly as a lamb, without a word, as long as anyone was watching. I have a friend in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; shortly after he was brought to Azkaban, Willem started screaming, and wouldn’t stop. Just as he’d carried on the last time, and the time before. Quiet, until he realized where he was again,” Flitwick looked at her, the same soft pity he’d worn for her on his face now.

“You sound like you feel sorry for him,” Jack said, forcing derision into her voice, almost spitting the words.

“I do, Willem went to Azkaban because he confessed to things, that…well frankly many people believe he couldn’t possibly have done. He wasn’t a squib, but he had very little magical ability and the things he was accused of sounded a lot more like his bright, but extremely disturbed older brother if you catch my meaning,” he said with an eyebrow raise that left Jack with little doubt as to that meaning.

“So, what you’re saying is I look like I’ve been in prison before?” Jack asked, even though she already knew the answer was a resounding yes.

“My dear girl, I know a little about your family. You seem to be a caring person. I cannot imagine someone with a conscience feeling like anything else in their company,” he said with that sympathetic look again.

“You realize you’re comparing that to your friends?” Jack asked nodding her head to the cottage and hoping to change the subject.

Flitwick laughed.

“Don’t let Minerva fool you. She’s hard as a feather pillow, though she’ll deny it, and you would mistake that for weakness at your peril,” he said with a smile. Jack returned it.

“Xio is an altogether different thing. The pillow’s there, you just have to beat through a block of granite to get to it. But unfortunately, I can see how the two of them together might bring up some old memories, particularly considering present circumstances,” Flitwick flipped the little stone pyramid on its head.

“Does this have something to do with why I’m supposed to feel valued right now?” Jack asked with a roll of her eyes. Flitwick let the little pyramid crumble into pebbles again.

“Only that the solution to your current troubles is not the obvious one,” he said.

“You still haven’t answered why the…current troubles are the best way,” Jack said, with the slightest tinge of annoyance at the little wizard’s continued vagaries.

“Do you know how Ravenclaws get into Ravenclaw tower?” he asked. Jack nodded.

“There’s an eagle shaped door knocker that asks them riddles,” she said.

“Right, I come for tea with Minerva and Xio once every few weeks over the summer. Next time I see you, I want a real answer to that question,” he said hopping down from the bench and motioning for Jack to follow him inside.

“Professor do you know the answer to that question?” Jack asked, he moved surprisingly fast, she had to jog a step or two to catch up to him.

“The right answer or the best answer?” he asked. Jack smirked.

“The right answer?” she asked.

“The right answer, to the wrong question is very simple.” He said.

“Am I allowed to know what it is?” Jack asked, hopeful that it would help with the other question.

“Because Albus said so,” Flitwick said, chuckling at his own joke, if that was in fact what it was.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

“Back again?” 

The stooped, wheezy old wizard at the front counter of the bookshop, who Jack had taken to referring to as ‘Efram’ in her head though he had never given her his name, had sat up like a shot when she walked in.

After her charms assessment had finished, Flitwick had suggested that Jack take some time away from her studies for the afternoon. The actual exam was still two weeks away, and Jack had welcomed the idea enthusiastically. If nothing else her head still hurt from Flitwick’s riddling instruction on how to be a proper Ravenclaw. After some terse back and forth and an aggressively well-reasoned argument from her new head of house, Jack had been allowed to wander up to the village unsupervised ‘as a show of mutual trust and respect,’ the tiny wizard had encouraged. Hooch had still been grumbling about it as Jack left, but McGonagall had reasoned that there were things the three full blown adults had to discuss that would be better done without Jack present, though she had been quick to lie and say it had nothing to do with her.

“Yeah…say, you wouldn’t mind if I…” Jack began smiling genuinely and walking past the piles of tempting books to the counter, “…organized these just a little as I went through them? There doesn’t seem to be a system to it,” she finished.

The ancient shopkeeper gave Jack a contemplative look, bordering on suspicious. Jack supposed he didn’t get many school age people in the shop over the summer, and he expected some sort of bibliographic subterfuge was afoot.

“Whichever system you would like of course. It’s by subject, then author on the shelves. I could try to replicate that in the stacks?” she offered, trying to smile sweetly and knowing full well that this tactic was futile. It might be the short spikes of her hair or the fact that she was wearing a badly used Harpies shirt (Hooch and McGonagall had not confiscated, but strongly advised against wearing any American quidditch merch) but the people Jack still thought of as ‘grownups’ never seemed to buy that she was anything other than trouble waiting to happen. Sadie had always found that hilarious.

Efram regarded her for a long moment, the bushy white hairs in his nose fluttering with every wheezy contemplative breath. She tried the smile wider. He chuckled a little then waved a dismissive hand.

“You’re Minerva’s niece, right? Gen told me about you. Very well, just shout for help if there’s a cave in.”

Jack grinned and went back to the front of the shop. She’d gotten through the first row of stacks the week before, but now that she had permission to do something about the unbelievable lack of reason that the little shop personified, she decided to go through them again. If nothing else, the books got shuffled so much by frustrated and curious readers that the composition of any one stack could change dramatically in a week.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack had been perusing and sorting the books for upwards of two hours before she looked up from her task. She had completed the first row, when ‘Efram’ had offered to clear the little ledge in front of the front window for her to use as a sorting area. “Since I assume you’ll be back after today?” he had said. As a result, she had expanded the little gorge running between the window and the first stack but the window itself was beginning to look like an admittedly far neater extension of the shelves.

Jack had been trying with little success to put the events of last night out of her mind. Flitwick had put her more at ease with her general unhappiness. McGonagall had eased her concerns about the journal, and Hooch’s apology had made her felt better than maybe she’d been willing to admit in the moment. But there was still the matter of her parents, she’d known they were looking for her but the knowledge that they were now doing so actively…it felt different. It felt like being hunted, all hope of their innocence having gone by the wayside.

_As if there had been any doubt._

 

Jack rubbed absently at her left forearm, only the most recently discovered evidence of the fact that her parents were as McGonagall had said, ‘human rubbish’. It seemed so obvious now, and as a result so utterly unbelievable that Jack hadn’t seen it herself that the thought of it produced a hot flash of anger every time it crossed her mind. So, it happened every ten minutes or so as she worked. At least the books were a pleasant distraction: an orderly, meticulous distraction that gave her a sense of serene calm in between swells of fear and anger. If it had any drawbacks at all, it was chiefly that it gave her a lot of time to be alone with her own thoughts.

Jack wasn’t really sure how long she’d been at it when there was an odd, prickling feeling on the back of her neck, like she was being watched or maybe there’d been a cool breeze. Since the little shop was hot as blazes and there was no wind to be had, she looked up, just out of instinct as she was placing a stack of books on the transfigurative properties of fungi onto the correct stack in the window.

There, across the street, no doubt about it, stood her father. All six feet of him, his dark beard and darker eyes alight in conversation.

Jack dropped the books with a crash, sending stacks of their fellows toppling in every direction. Jarephal McCubbin was standing outside of Ollivanders, talking to Genevieve. He wasn’t looking towards Jack, which was fortunate as she hadn’t the wherewithal to decide whether to duck low out of sight, or just run as fast as she could. Maybe the bookshop had a back door, or a restroom she could hide in.

Genevieve was chattering to him amicably, all smiles. She knew the look; her father could be very charming when there was something he wanted and she was sure that Gen was utterly smitten with him by now. After all the thing he was after, he wanted very, very badly.

_Gotta get out of here, gotta getout ofhere, gottagetoutofhere_

“Girl,” Efram had spoken behind her, low and wheezing. It broke her out of her trance just enough to allow her to turn towards him with a shake of her head to clear it.

“Get low and come back this way, there’s a carrel on the side here,” he said urgently pointing to a cart so full of books that Jack had utterly missed that it wasn’t another stack. She didn’t question him, she dropped to a crouch and began threading her way towards the desk.

She had to be careful, the toppling stacks had created quite the obstacle course on this side of the shop, the stacks were tall and tottering, the slightest tick of her elbow against one could send a small wave of literature down. Not only would such a mistake be painful but it would also give away her position. She was forced to move slowly, torturously slowly. She was almost halfway to the carrel. 

The little bell of the door jingled and rattled disjointedly behind her. Jack froze, still several feet short of the cart and whatever safety it could afford her. the stacks were tall enough that if she stayed down she would not be seen, but she wasn’t sure how still she could stay in this position, and if it was him, what on earth would she do if he walked this way?

“Afternoon Algie,” Genevieve’s voice came lilting over the fading rattle of the ancient bell. The little wizard at the desk grunted a response over the scratching sound of a quill against paper, then a little whoosh of air that Jack was fairly certain had been floo powder.

“Alge, I’ve got this nice American gentleman here. He’s got a problem, and I was wondering if you might be able to help?” she asked. Jack closed her eyes, trying not even to breathe, her heartbeat pumping at a frantic pace in her chest, it was starting to feel tight again. 

_Breathe, you have to breathe, in for four, hold for four, out for four, as quietly as you can, you can’t turn into a shaking mess right now, you just can’t!_

“And why should I be able to help him Gen?” the old wizard wheezed. Jack had no idea how he knew what was going on, but she fully intended to clean up his stacks, sweep the floor and possibly scrub down his house if he got her out of this.

“My good sir,” her father’s voice this time, deep and dripping with supplication. A shiver ran up Jack’s spine as she put her hands, very slowly but firmly, palms down on the floor, praying silently that the boards of the floor wouldn’t creak as she leaned some of her weight forward and off of her knees, which were starting to burn.

“I don’t belong to no Yank, far as I’m aware, state your business,” the old wizard croaked.

_You beautiful old bastard, I’ll clean your garage, your attic, your basement…_

“Algie! What’s gotten into you?” Genevieve squeaked in surprise, Algernon grunted again.

“I was wondering perhaps, if you’ve seen my daughter? My wife and I brought her here for the day, and I seem to have misplaced her. She’s an avid reader, and I thought your shop might have caused her to wander off,” her father said, ignoring the insult and continuing as if he and Algernon were the best of friends. “She’s about sixteen. Her name is Jacqueline. Did she happen to stop in?”

There was a long pause, Jack holding her breath for far longer than the proscribed four seconds, the little wizard shifted on his high stool, she could hear the creak of it from here.

“Can’t say I’ve seen her, I don’t generally allow unattended children in my shop, they make an awful mess you see,” Algernon said. 

“Of course, I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to let me know if you do happen to see her? I am staying at the Three Broomsticks. I believe Madam Rosmerta would be kind enough to hold a message for me there,” her father answered, cool as ice.

“Thought you were here just for the day?” Algernon asked, Jack smiled. Her father was rarely caught in a lie, but she imagined his face was something to behold at the moment.

“My wife and daughter will be leaving this evening, of course, that is assuming that I find help elsewhere,” her father replied, “I can’t very well leave without my darling girl.”

Jack swallowed hard, that was an interesting choice of words.

“Of course not,” Algernon said curtly, clearly indication that the conversation was at an end. Jack let out barely a whisper of a breath in relief. She might ask if the old guy had any laundry the needed doing.

“Would you mind terribly if I took a look around? I think I might find something here that would pique her interest and she’s been complaining of boredom the whole trip, you know how teenagers can be,” her father said, his tone lightening, but the consonants had become sharp, overenunciated, a sure sign of trouble. He suspected something, and he of course, was right.

Jack leaned her forehead against a book on vanishing spells, reaching into her jeans for her wand, certainly the consequences of using magic outside the cottage would pale in comparison to the consequences of allowing herself to be found.

“I was about to close up for supper, if it’s all the same to you sir, when you find the young lady you’re welcome to return with her,” Algernon said in the same curt tone. Jack closed her eyes, her fingers wrapped tightly around the grip of her wand, if she did a stunning spell, she might send him through the window, she had no idea how to expect this new wand would react to her in a state of panic.

“I assure you I’ll only be a minute,” her father said icily, Jack took a hitching breath, every muscle in her body burned with the effort of keeping completely still as she heard boots on the floor boards opposite here, on the other side of the massive piles of books.

Jack looked towards the carrel, if she was quiet, maybe, just maybe she could get there before he rounded the corner…

“Be that as it may, I am closing up shop, and I’m certain you’re in a hurry to find the girl,” Algernon wheezed, clearly annoyed that he was being questioned on this point.

“I’m sure she’s just wandered off somewhere,” her father replied. Jack tried shuffling one aching foot forward beneath her. It was difficult in the crouch; everything was stiff, and she had to be cautious.

“Dangerous times to be wandering off, I know you’re not from around here, but I’m sure you heard about what happened,” Algernon said. His voice was a little clearer, a little more frantic. The bootsteps stopped. Jack pulled another foot forward, then froze, the little shop had gone silent and she was leery of creaks in its ancient floorboards.

“You mean that business at Hogwarts? I heard it was an accident,” her father said smoothly, there was an edge to his voice that Jack recognized, it was a warning, though she doubted either Algernon or Genevieve would hear it there.

“After the World Cup, I’m afraid we’re all a little tense,” Genevieve said, her voice less friendly than it had been when they had entered. Maybe Jack had misjudged her.

“Understandably, but surely you don’t doubt your own Ministry?” her asked. Jack took another step forward.

“No of course not,” Algernon said, sarcasm rife in his tone. Jack was almost there, she could practically touch the carrel. The bootsteps sounded again behind her, the front of the shop this time.

“I’ve never understood the uh…European instinct to fear people expressing their opinions,” her father said casually, as if he were discussing the weather and not the return of a homicidal sociopath. The little bell at the door rattled and Jack heard someone clear their throat distinctly.

“I’ve never understood why Americans can’t see a correlation between those opinions and the murders they cause,” this was a new voice, but an utterly familiar one.

“I apologize madam, I didn’t see you there,” her father said, his voice icy at the interruption.

Hooch gave a short barking laugh.

“Xio,” Genevieve said, sounding relieved. Jack felt a tremble in the pit of her stomach. She could not be so flippant with him; he was dangerous. She gripped her wand tighter and shuffled forward again. He was for the moment, distracted after all.

“Not much to see, I assure you,” she said, “Alge, you’re closing up for supper, aren’t you? Minerva asked me to run down and fetch something for her before you left.”

“Got it right here,” Algernon said, hopping down from the desk and crossing in front of it, Jack looked up at the little wizard came into view, he pulled the carrel forward, pushed it into the aisle next to her.

“You think opinions are dangerous?” her father asked, sounding amused rather than annoyed by the glib newcomer. He was in his element, or so he believed, about to correct a peasant and as such was utterly oblivious to everything else around him. Jack took the opportunity as presented and ducked between the carrel and the shelves on the wall. Algernon looked meaningfully down at her, his pale blue eyes flicking backward. He pulled the cart back and Jack moved with it, quick as she dared until it was back in its customary place, there was an overburdened table here, stacks on all sides but one, the one closest to the desk. Jack had to tuck her legs up into her chest to fit, but she managed it just as Algernon slid the carrel into place, it was a perfect blind.

“I think people are dangerous, particularly strangers,” Hooch said as Jack watched Algernon present her with a book. 

“Forgive me, I forgot to introduce- “her father began.

“Forgive me, I don’t care,” Hooch cut him off, “Min said three sickles is that right? The binding looks like its seen better days.”

“Madam, I-“ her father began. For some reason, he was far less terrifying now that Jack could see him. He looked positively flummoxed, like he was unsure what to do. Jack didn’t think she’d ever seen him with that look on his face before. It was satisfying.

“Don’t be rude Xio, poor yank’s gone and lost his daughter, you haven’t seen a, what’d you say she was? Fourteen?” Algernon asked, Jack unsure whether or not this was a poly to annoy Jarephal or a comment on her youthful looks, chose not to take offense. She took a deep breath, hoping, as she was sure Algernon was, that her father took the bait.

“I make a point of not seeing teenagers once term’s ended,” Hooch said, extending the book to Algernon, “I’ll give you one sickle.”

“That’s robbery!” Algernon barked, looking honestly angry at the insult to the book. Jack watched her father, his neck was starting to redden, anger plain as day.

“Only in response to extortion,” Hooch murmured sweetly. Jack bit her lip, chewing it nervously as her father stepped towards Hooch.

“Shall I take that to mean you haven’t seen her?” he asked. Hooch turned to him, a wry smile on her lips.

“I haven’t,” she said, then turned back to Algernon, “One sickle or the book back what’ll it be?” 

“The book back, give my regards to Minerva as she’s hexing you into the new year,” Algernon said, holding his hand out imperiously.

Hooch sighed. 

Jack tried to stretch but found it quite impossible.

“One sickle and a drink, my treat at the Broomsticks?” she offered. Algernon considered this for a moment. Jack watched her father, the red creeping into his cheeks now, he was not accustomed to being ignored this way.

“Jack,” there was a barely audible whisper on her right, near Algernon’s desk. She looked up and nearly gasped to see Professor Flitwick, on his hands and knees, beckoning her toward him urgently. It would mean crawling out into the open. Jack turned and checked her father again, he was still staring at Hooch, watching her barter with Algie and growing insensate with rage.

Jack rolled stiffly onto her knees and crawled slowly towards the desk, practically pulling herself around the corner next to Flitwick, who mouthed ‘back door’ at her and pointed urgently to the right. The little curtain that delineated the back room of the shop was ever so slightly pulled to the left. It would bring them past the group talking and Jack shook her head, nodding it urgently towards the center of the room. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the assistance, but would it kill any of them to treat this as seriously as she was? Of course, they were unaware of the depth of their danger, but Jack was not, and did not intend to get any of them hurt in an ill-advised plot to keep her hidden.

Flitwick, seeing sense, nodded, then pulled his wand from his pocket and aimed it carefully at the stack of books furthest from the desk, just behind her father. The top book stood on end, teetered for a moment, then fell into her father’s leg as the rest of the stack crumbled into the one next to it and they all began to topple in turn. Great puffs of book dust shooting up like geysers into the little shop. There were general cries of surprise and alarm at this from those in the middle of the room and Jack didn’t need to be told what to do with the diversion. She scurried past the curtain, Flitwick just behind her, and stood finally, the blood flowing back into her muscles as he let the drape fall back into place behind them.

“Are you, all right?” Flitwick asked, rushing past her and hurrying along ahead through the cramped, and if possible even more precarious space. Jack followed him, ignoring the shouts from the shop floor, most of which involved Algernon cursing American clumsiness.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jack whispered back as they ran up against a door, halfway ajar, that led into a little alley behind the shops on this side of the street.

“Excellent, best get you away from here, keep your head down and try to keep up,” he said in a rushed whisper as he turned left and took off. He was incredibly fast, faster than Jack ever would have suspected someone with so little leg could have ever been. She actually had trouble keeping pace with him, though it might have been the lingering stiffness in her knees.

The alley let out onto an old dirt path that Jack assumed turned into the one at the fork in the road and Flitwick led the way as they raced back towards the cottage, her sneakers kicking up little puffs of dust as they went.

She was not entirely surprised to see McGonagall, standing impatiently on the front porch of the cottage, dressed for travel.

“Thank you Filius,” she said breathlessly grabbing Jack by the shoulders as Flitwick sat, wheezing onto the stoop.

“Did he see you?” McGonagall asked, her face lined with worry. Jack shook her head.

“I don’t think so,” she said, still a little breathless herself from the flight.

“Good, get inside now, in case he follows her back. Where’s the bird?” McGonagall asked, looking relieved if not relaxed.

Jack stammered for a moment, just realizing she didn’t actually know what had just happened. One moment she’d been stacking books, the next nearly ruining her jeans in terror and here she was, safe and sound for the moment, and quite happy to have McGonagall looking over her shoulder for her.

“Uh, I think she’s in the attic, at least she should be, I had the window closed,” she said, looking up at the attic. The window was still closed, she was almost certain that she had not in fact let Macha out.

“Ok, get inside, go upstairs and stay away from the windows. Make sure she’d up there too, now get,” McGonagall said, giving Jack a swift pat on the back as she passed her.

Jack found Macha in the kitchen, rummaging through the garbage can after the crusts off sandwiches. It took a little doing, and Jack using a summoning charm on spiders (nightmare fuel she had not needed) to get her to follow her up the stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she was sitting in relative comfort, itching to have the journal back and watching Macha play with her snacks.

She didn’t know what this meant, whether she would have to be moved again or not, whether she would be considered too dangerous to attend Hogwarts – or at the very least to stay with Hooch and McGonagall, a prospect she found surprisingly distressing. She was just beginning to wonder if she might be able to sleep in the back of the little bookshop, it had looked rather cramped, when the ladder pulled down and Hooch’s head appeared above the floor.

“Good instincts, but point that somewhere else,” she said nodding at the wand in Jack’s hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d taken it out.

“Pack some clothes, a few books if you must, and whatever you need for that flying garbage can,” she continued, stepping into the attic and looking around as if expecting a mess. Jack, tidy by nature, couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed.

“Are you sending me away?” Jack asked, her chest beginning to tighten as she stood off the bed.

Hooch stared at her, confusion on her face. 

“Of course not, but we’re going to get out of the village for a little while, just until we’re sure he’s pushed on. Well at least you and Minerva are. One of us has to stay in case he comes poking around the houses, and as I’ve developed a violent urge to hex him back across the Atlantic, I’ve volunteered,” she said. Jack breathed out slowly, a little nervous smile forming on her face.

“Ok, uh, where are we going?” she asked, it would matter, what to pack.

“London,” Hooch said, pointing her wand at a spider that Macha had dropped at her foot, she stunned it as it tried to skitter up her pant leg.

“How did you know to come to the bookshop?” Jack asked. Though she was fairly sure she knew the answer.

“Algie sent a message, you gave him quite the turn,” Hooch said with a wry smile, “This isn’t the first time we’ve had someone in this house who didn’t want to be found, apparently he’s been waiting to use that plan for ages.”

“Could you say thank you for me?” Jack asked. She felt a little guilty for the state the little bookshop had been left in.

“You can tell him yourself when you get back, if nothing else he seems to be under the impression he’s your employer for the summer,” Hooch said, pulling the trunk from the wall, “picked a nasty piece of work for a summer job, Algie’s about as friendly as a tentacula with blight, but at least he’s a good man.”

“At least I didn’t pick Madam Ollivander, she would’ve just given him your address,” Jack said, feeling a little defensive of the wheezy old wizard, he had after all just saved her skin.

“Gen only brought him in there because he was going anyway. She knew full well not to tell him anything, they all do,” Hooch said. She batted Macha away, the crow was trying to drop a spider in her hair.

“How many people know who I am?” Jack asked, face aghast. She’d gotten told off for telling Sadie things, and apparently Hooch had sent a telegram to every shop in Hogsmeade.

“None of them. They only know that Minerva and I occasionally take in strays. I believe we’ve mentioned that before, and they know better than to tell strangers anything without asking,” Hooch said, “Even when they know damn well they’re being lied to, if you think you’re the first ‘niece’ they’ve ever met, you are mistaken,” she shook her head. It looked like she was trying to remember something.

“Are you all right?” Jack asked, pulling a random handful of socks from the drawer and depositing them in the trunk. She didn’t know how much time she had. Then she remembered that she could use her wand.

“Yes, I’m fine, I just…” Hooch said, pausing and looking intently at Jack’s face, “Are you, all right?” she asked.

Jack looked back at her, wand aimed at the dresser, shirts and pants folding themselves neatly before floating down into the trunk.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t even see me,” she said. She turned back to the dresser, trying to decide if it would be embarrassing to get her underwear.

“That’s not really what I meant,” Hooch began, “Minerva…please don’t be angry, but she told me a little about him, and I would imagine you weren’t having an easy time of it when you saw him,” she finished softly. Jack looked back, underwear flying as quick as she could manage into the trunk. She still had decisions to make about books.

“I can honestly say it was a damn good thing Algie was there,” Jack said evenly, not sure how else to respond. Hooch was looking at her expectantly, though Jack couldn’t for the life of her figure out what the older woman was waiting for.

“That’s all?” Hooch asked sitting on the bed and shooing Macha again, “No attacks?” she followed, holding out her hand as the crow dropped a particularly spindly looking spider to the sheets. Hooch tossed it to the floor and the crow hopped after it. 

Jack shifted uncomfortably in her sneakers as she looked across to the bookshelf. She’d need some things, the exam was still, hopefully, coming. She couldn’t believe she wanted it to but she did. 

“Maybe a small one, I did that breathing thing though,” she said offhandedly as she passed by the foot of the bed. Hooch smiled at her.

“Good, I’m…” Hooch began, she paused for a moment, shifting on the bed while Jack selected three textbooks on transfiguration and six on potions, “I’m glad you were able to handle it.”

Jack dropped the books into the trunk, then set about collecting Macha’s admittedly few possessions. She didn’t look at Hooch, she wasn’t sure why it would be thought she couldn’t handle it. If anyone in the room would be taking on more than they could handle with her father in Hogsmeade, it was Hooch and her damned smart mouth, not Jack.

“Listen, I know you’re still angry with me about last night, but Minerva has already cleared the journal. I’m sure she’ll be giving it back to you before bed even,” Hooch said, her voice uncharacteristically plaintive. Jack dropped a few of the fishing lures that Macha liked to chase into the trunk and turned to face her.

“I’m, I’m not angry about that it’s just,” Jack almost said it, thought better and reached for the small bag of dog kibble on the nightstand. Macha, sensing a snack hopped up onto the bed and clacked her beak together expectantly. Jack, knowing it was not worth the struggle pulled a nugget of kibble out and dropped it to the floor.

“Just what?” Hooch asked, arching an eyebrow and watching Jack with interest as she gathered pens and paper.

“Why did you have to insult him?” Jack asked pushing the things into the trunk and glaring at Hooch over her shoulder, there was a hot swell of anger in her chest, an anger she hadn’t truly thought she was feeling till now. It seemed odd, to be angry at Hooch and not know it.

“Concerned for his feelings?” Hooch asked, looking surprised and not at all sincere.

“No, I-“ Jack started, her face was hot, she was having trouble thinking of words as she scanned the attic for anything that she absolutely could not live without for a few days. Her eyes lighted on Hooch, sitting calmly on the bedspread, looking not at all bothered, perhaps even amused.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous he is?” Jack asked, her voice as calm as she could make it. Her fist clenched tightly around the grip of her wand in her pocket. She didn’t even know why she was reaching for it.

“I do, I also know that men like that are less dangerous the angrier they are, they make rash decisions, they act on impulse rather than planning,” Hooch said sitting back on the bed. ”To be honest, I’m almost hoping he does try to break in.”

Jack stared at her, at a loss for words. She thought, for a moment, that if she were a stupid person, she might mistake this statement for bravery. She was not a stupid person, she knew exactly what this was.

“You’ve been itching to fight a death eater since the Triwizard tournament, so you’re going to get yourself killed to feel like you got one over on them,” she snapped bitterly, reaching for toiletries, she knew she’d forgotten something.

“My goodness, just over a month with Minerva McGonagall and you’re a psychoanalyst. She should start a correspondence course,” Hooch said with a chuckle sitting up again, “I hope he breaks in because then I can have him arrested. If he’s arrested, he can’t look for you here anymore.” 

Jack paused, looking at Macha and wondering how on earth they were going to travel, how she was going to bring her along safely.

“Why don’t I believe that?” Jack asked, giving Hooch a cruel smile, she figured she deserved it, here was Jack, scared and angry, trying to figure out what to do next, and there was Hooch, imagining herself victorious before she’d ever truly seen her adversary.

“Because you think it utterly impossible that anyone would think you were worth such a risk,” Hooch said, not a moment’s hesitation.

Jack stopped, hand halfway to a candle that she didn’t truly need, the odds of electric lighting in London were certainly high enough. She turned to face Hooch, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her, not with haughty arrogance, or even blunt plainness, she looked tired. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Jack asked with a nervous laugh as she pointed her wand at the trunk and charmed it closed, the locks clicking.

“It means that believe it or not, I know exactly what I’m doing, and I think you are worth it,” Hooch said standing and pointing her own wand at the trunk, it lifted itself from the floor and floated down the ladder as she guided it, “I’ve been very hard on you. I’ve been very, very hard on you, but I don’t want you to go off thinking that means I don’t like you, or that I don’t care.”

Jack watched the trunk go, then turned back to Hooch. She stared at her, watched her eyes, watched her hand, it was lying calmly at her side. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, turning the wand in her hand over in her fingers, “that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Well, just know that I mean it, and we probably shouldn’t keep Minerva waiting,” Hooch said gesturing to the ladder.

“Right,” Jack said looking up, her heart pounding in her chest, Hooch was wearing a kind smile, it was…affectionate.

“Go on, I have to shore some things up, up here, hide some things just in case he comes in through the attic,” Hooch said her brows furrowing, she looked concerned again.

_Flitwick said trust my instincts…_

“STUPEFY!” Jack shouted raising her wand and sending Hooch into the wall. Her eyes went wide for a moment in the air, just before she crashed into the wood. Jack rushed forward after her before her body could hit the floor.

“Expelliarmus,” she said pointing her wand at Hooch’s it flew into her hand.  
“Finite Incantatum,” Jack said calmly. There were steps behind her, her father, she was sure, after all he had to be nearby for the Imperius to work as well as it had.

“What in the NAME of Slytherin’s pure blooded pantaloons, was THAT?” Hooch asked shaking her head and trying to stand, “Have you lost your mind?” 

There were steps on the ladder behind her, McGonagall crested the top, wand at the ready.

“What’s going on? I heard dueling!” 

Jack felt the blood rushing from her face.

“I-I-“ she began.

“You stupefied me,” Hooch said with a groan as she pushed herself up on her knees.

“Why?” McGonagall asked looking at Jack, her own wand still out.

“She-“ Jack said, looking at Hooch who looked fighting mad, “What’s the last thing you remember?” Jack asked.

“You flinging me into the wall, which is apparently less upsetting than me doing the same to you,” Hooch said putting a hand on her hip and wincing.

“I thought,” Jack said, her bottom lip catching between her teeth, the strong desire to shrink to the size of a mouse growing by the second, “I thought you’d been imperioused.”

“WHAT?” Hooch and McGonagall asked in unison, as McGonagall moved forward to help her wife to her feet.

“You, you were saying nice things and being…emotionally open1 I don’t know, I figured my dad must have whammied you on the way back to the cottage!” Jack said, shrugging expansively.

“I said nice things, and you thought I’d been placed under an Unforgivable Curse?” Hooch asked, her voice strained in disbelief. McGonagall stared at her, wonder writ large on her face.

“Well you have to admit it’s not exactly a huge logical leap!” Jack said, holding her hands up defensively. 

McGonagall, was beginning to shake, her shoulders trembling and shuddering, she looked at the floor. She was going to explode at any moment, Jack was in the worst trouble of her life.

“Merlin’s beard Xio, Moody’s going to love her,” McGonagall said through a wheeze of barely controlled laughter. Jack stared at her in surprise.

“She ATTACKED me! For being NICE!” Hooch said, a small smile forcing itself onto her face, despite the mask of indignation.

“Aye, and I can’t fault her,” McGonagall barked out between chuffs of laughter. Jack looked around her, convinced there was someone playing some kind of joke on her.

“Can’t fault her?” Hooch asked pointing at Jack, “give me my wand if you please.”

Jack held the wand out meekly, Hooch snatched it from her.

“All this does is prove my point by the way,” Hooch said easing herself onto the bed as McGonagall raised her head, her arms crossed over her still shaking chest.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Jack said dumbly, twirling the wand between her fingers. 

“Thank goodness you didn’t choose something worse! I could be dead!” Hooch barked from the bed, her hand on her stomach where the spell had struck her.

“Well, I would have felt the fool, all those times I asked you if it would kill you to be agreeable,” McGonagall said with another burst of laughter. Hooch shot a little bolt of static electricity at her side and McGonagall jumped.

“Xiomara, that’s entirely inappropriate,” McGonagall squeaked, her normal stoicism returning almost in an instant.

“Both of you get out of my house,” Hooch said, leaning back on the bed.

“Are you ready?” McGonagall asked, looking at Jack, a wide smile still refusing to leave her face. Jack nodded.

“Good, I’ll meet you outside. We’re taking brooms; I thought that might please you,” she said. It would be a long flight, Jack thought as McGonagall leaned down, kissed Hooch on the forehead, chuckled at her one last time and strode down the ladder.

Jack picked up her broom, Macha fluttered excitedly to her shoulder.

“I really am-“ Jack started.

“Out,” Hooch replied, sitting up and pointing to the ladder.

Jack walked quickly towards the exit, was almost there when a mad thought crossed her mind.

_Fuck it._

Jack walked back to the bed, leaning the broom on the side she wrapped her arms around the neck of an utterly surprised Hooch and gave her shoulders a brief squeeze. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said into her shoulder.

“Don’t be, I’m almost proud of you. Leave before I change my mind,” Hooch said. This time Jack listened.

McGonagall was waiting out front, Flitwick, bent over, his beard practically sweeping the cobbled path, was laughing so forcefully, Jack wasn’t sure he could breathe.

“So London?” Jack asked. McGonagall handed her a piece of paper.

“Read that, not aloud,” she said quickly, grinning at Flitwick who was wiping tears from his eyes with his robes.

Jack unfolded the little scrap of paper, it read:

_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve Grimmauld Place London._

 

Author’s Notes: 

Sorry for the long time between updates, Nanowrimo is a harsh mistress. Hopefully we’ll be getting back to a semi-regular posting schedule. If not semi-regular standards.


	8. Werewolves and Weasleys

Jack’s sneakers hit the rooftop harder than she’d meant them to, hard enough to send her stumbling almost to the edge. Her feet were numb from the cold, and four hours on a broom had a tendency to make them feel stupid when they hit solid earth again. 

McGonagall didn’t seem to fair much better as she touched down beside Jack and instantly tottered a bit sideways. If Jack was tired and sore she couldn’t imagine how McGonagall must feel. Even Macha had taken a rather long rest on the back of Jack’s broomstick, poking her beak up her sweatshirt to keep it out of the wind. Jack’s lower back felt like it had been in an ice bath since the Scottish border.

“That was…terrible,” Jack muttered as Macha hopped down to the rooftop and began preening herself.

“I would have thought you’d spent far longer on a broom than that,” McGonagall said, stretching backward and rolling her neck. There was an audible cracking noise, and Jack felt suddenly rather foolish for complaining. 

“It’s different, flying level for that long. I thought I was going to lose feeling in my eyes,” she said. She grinned at her own joke and was mollified to see the corners of McGonagall’s mouth twitch upward, even slightly.

“Well, I grant you loop the loops do get the blood flowing,” McGonagall rolled her neck again, producing another satisfying crack. 

Jack looked around the rooftop. It was well after dark now, and there wasn’t much to see in the immediate. She’d never been to London, and she’d been watching the lights grow larger since they began their descent. She’d been focused too hard on following McGonagall to truly look, and now that she was standing still, she made a tentative move towards the edge of the roof. 

She had expected it to look like New York – or maybe Boston, Boston felt older and seemed a more obvious comparison – but she found that the play of light was entirely unique. There was no sterile grid here; the city was organic, flowing around the Thames as the lights ebbed and crested along with its curves, shimmering off the water and refracting themselves into radiant color. It was beautiful, more beautiful than Jack had suspected from the air. Height and distance had a way of making everything look flat and even. It was only from the ground that you could see all the enticing layers.

“It’s very pretty,” Jack said, turning to look at McGonagall who was straightening her cloak and walking purposefully towards what looked to be a rooftop pigeon coop.

“I’ve heard London called many things. I don’t know if pretty was ever among them,” she quipped, “Get along now, I’m sure Molly’s holding supper for us, and I don’t want to make her wait.”

Jack took another look over her shoulder towards the water. If they were going to be here a few days, maybe she could sneak back up here, see what it looked like in the sunlight.

McGonagall gestured her over to the pigeon coop. Jack raised one dubious eyebrow, but did as she was told. The box looked filthy: large white and grey feathers stuck out of its wire front at haphazard angles and a thick layer of grimy…something littered it’s bottom. Jack thought she had a very good idea what the disgusting sight, and its accompanying smell, was like to be.

“Please tell me that’s not the door,” she said wrinkling her nose and lifting a sleeve to cover her mouth. Macha fluttered up to the lid of the coop and clicked her beak disapprovingly. 

_Don’t worry bird, you will NOT be staying in that thing_.

“No, the chimney’s the door. This is broom storage,” McGonagall said nodding impatiently at the lid. Jack reached out to lift it; she would have been loathe to touch it with a full set of gloves and someone else’s hand. 

“Please tell me it’s cleaner on the inside,” she said, wincing as she pushed up.

“Bigger too,” McGonagall nodded.

When Jack peered over the rim of the coop, she found McGonagall to be quite correct. It was a more than serviceable broom rack. It was clearly very old and maybe lacking a bit in the way of maintenance, but it was clear that when it was well cared for, it had been a very fine looking, and very expensive, addition to the building. There were already some six brooms in it, mostly middling range racing brooms and a few early model Cleansweeps, that looked to have seen significantly better days. She placed the Warhead in an empty slot and held a hand out for McGonagall’s broom.

“Thank you. Now, let’s get a move on. You’ve got your things?” McGonagall asked, blowing her nose and moving towards a small stack of chimney pots, four clustered tightly together at the front of the roof.

“Yeah,” Jack said, reaching instinctively into her pocket. Flitwick had shrunk the trunk down so small she wasn’t sure anyone but him could enlarge it again.

“Good,” McGonagall replied, stepping up to the chimney stacks and studying them intently. Jack held a hand down to Macha, who hopped up instantly. Clearly she was just as ready to be done with the day as everyone else.

“It’s this one,” McGonagall said, pointing to one of the chimney pots and reaching in her pocket for something. 

Jack bit her bottom lip, chewing on it for a second before looking up to McGonagall, who had fumbled her wand out of her robes.

“Who’s Molly?” she asked, stroking Macha’s head and getting nipped by the crow in response. She kept trying to nudge her up to her shoulder; she was far too heavy to sit on her wrist this long now.

“Molly Weasley. She is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, mother to more than a few of my students and a rather good cook,” McGonagall said, lowering the wand to just inside the chimney pot and giving it a sharp twist. The pot began to swell and widen. Jack breathed a slight sigh of relief. She’d been through secret entrances – Wizard clubs in New York were especially fond of them. and an alarming number seemed to require one getting sucked through something narrow. It didn’t hurt, of course, but it always made Jack feel strangely squished for an hour or so after. 

“Uh, the Order of the Phoenix?” Jack asked, relief fading quickly to confusion.

McGonagall looked up, her face blank.

“Sometimes I forget we don’t tell you much,” she said with a sigh, “You know what Death Eaters are?”

Jack nodded, rolling her eyes and holding out her left arm.

“Don’t be clever it was rhetorical. The Order is their opposite. I am a member, as is almost everyone you are about to meet. Which reminds me-“ McGonagall began turning towards Jack with a pointed look.

“Use my alias, no one can know, I’m just your niece, and there’s absolutely nothing interesting or remarkable about me in any way. Do you want me to just go sit in a room, be quiet and pretend to not exist?” Jack asked. About the only thing McGonagall had bothered trying to shout over the wind on the long way here was repeated and varied warnings not to give herself away. There were Hogwarts students in this house.

“No, I want you to stick to the carefully crafted and exceptionally brilliant lie the Headmaster has come up with for your own safety and protection,” she sighed gently, lifting her eyes in silent supplication that she wouldn’t regret what followed, “Be as loud as you like within reason, but I would remind you that I am your aunt and have full authority to punish you if you displease me.”

Her glasses had slid so far down her nose Jack was fighting the instinct to put a hand out to catch them.

“Which would be different than normal how?” she asked, shrugging a shoulder.

“It wouldn’t but I’d prefer not to do it in front of Sirius Black. He’s sure to find it intensely amusing,” McGonagall said putting her wand back in her pocket and gesturing for Jack to step into the chimney pot.

“Excuse-me-what?” Jack asked. She was fairly certain McGonagall had just offhandedly mentioned the presence of a mass murdering Death Eater, “Did you just say Sirius Black is here?”

McGonagall nodded. “It’s his house.”

“I’m sorry I think I’ve gone a bit auditory hallucination…y in this ear-“ Jack began pointing to her head and staring at McGonagall in confounded horror.

“You have not. He is innocent, and you’ll just have to trust me. Besides I’d be more worried about the Hippogriff,” McGonagall said, gesturing again to the chimney.

“HIPPOGRIFF?” Jack asked, pointing at her ear again. Macha nipped at it and she winced.

“He’s got his own room, besides are you or are you not the girl that got all barmy over the thestrals?” McGonagall asked, again pointing, urgently at the chimney.

“What else is down there? Merpeople? Giants? Werewolves?” Jack asked, her voice growing increasingly shrill with every new category.

“Actually,” McGonagall said, looking towards the street, “Probably not yet, but there is a meeting tonight.”

Jack stared at her, McGonagall pointed to the chimney.

“Which?” she asked, her face flushing red.

“I’ve never understood why that should be an insult to people like us. After you.”

Jack wrinkled her brow. “Did you seriously just make—”

“Just go.” McGonagall said, still looking pleased with herself. There was clearly no point in carrying on the argument, and Jack stepped into the dark, hoping dearly that she wouldn’t land on something McGonagall had failed to mention made its residence in the ‘safe house’.

There was that familiar sucking sensation around her, but it was over in a moment, and she didn’t feel even the least bit like a tinned ham for once.

She was in an attic, much larger than the one at the cottage and bathed in ambient city blue light from the large circular window at her back. It was stuffed full of every manner of material good Jack could imagine. Most of it looked very old, older even than some of the things at her parents’ house. Almost everything was wrapped tightly in dusty sheets, mildewed drop-cloths and the like, and a few smaller items even looked to be bound tightly in what Jack assumed to be the remains of fine scarves or silk handkerchiefs. Clearly whoever’s storage space this was had more than enough money to hide this kind of finery. 

McGonagall popped into the room on her left, touching a hand to the bridge of her nose and reaching out to grasp Jack’s shoulder for balance. 

“That thing really needs to be looked at, puts my sinuses in a vice every time,” she said, pulling her handkerchief and blowing her nose again before beginning to weave through the narrow footpaths that led towards the door.

“Hold onto that bird,” McGonagall said over her shoulder as she moved forward, “You don’t want her hopping on anything up here, and keep your hands to yourself while you’re at it.”

Jack nodded as she squeezed past a particularly grimy looking armoire, clutching Macha to her chest. The bird wasn’t struggling the way she would have expected her to. If nothing else Macha generally couldn’t help herself when there were flat surfaces available for the hopping. 

Jack looked around her as the press of covered furniture opened up to a slightly wider and less treacherous wall of unknown dangerous objects. All of this apparently belonged to Sirius Black. 

_Sadie thinks I’m from money._ Jack thought ruefully as she passed something that had a ruby the size of a golden snitch poking out from under a silk monogrammed handkerchief. She had to admit, it was a small condolence that most of it was probably cursed into the next century. Her parents had always told her there was nothing to fear from the Dark Arts, that no matter what it said in the books she read and no matter what other people might tell her, there was no such thing as truly bad magic. She had believed them. 

Jack tucked her arms even closer to her sides, gripping Macha tightly. If she could have managed it, she wouldn’t even have made contact with the floor.

Jack was just about to apologize for running into McGonagall’s back for the fourth time when a door opened ahead of them. Jack squinted her eyes shut against the harsh orange light from the landing, and Macha cawed and tried to flap her wings.

“I hoped it was you,” a cheery voice called from the doorframe.

Jack opened her eyes, trying to force them to adjust.

“Good evening Molly,” McGonagall replied, her voice sharp with surprise.

“I thought you’d come through the front, much less dangerous Minerva, and I assume you have luggage besides,” the woman, Molly, said as she stepped out of the doorframe and gestured McGonagall and Jack out of the attic. 

“Shrinking charm Molly,” McGonagall, said stepping through the doorframe and reaching behind her to grab Jack by the elbow.

She pulled Jack through to the landing just as Molly swung the door shut and clicked the lock over in a hurry. It was like she was afraid something might follow them out. 

Now that Jack could see her clearly, she gave Molly Weasley a small smile. She was a short, full looking woman with a neat but harried look about her. Jack was strongly reminded of Sadie’s grandmother, and it made her feel better instantly.

“Well let’s get you both downstairs then. The boys helped me clear one of the bedrooms for you,” Molly said giving Macha a long, dubious look as Jack followed the gesture down the stairs. McGonagall shushed her after every squeaky floorboard, and Jack was starting to get well and truly frustrated as they arrived at the bottom and a hallway full of doors. The second floor looked just as careworn as the attic, in fact it looked like an especially spacious extension of it. This time there were sheets on the walls too. Portrait shaped sheets.

“You’ll have to be quiet as we go down the hall dear, they’ve only been covered a few days and some of them are still quite sensitive about it – shout at anything that comes near them,” Molly said.

She put an arm around Jack’s shoulders, being mindful of Macha’s clicking beak, and gently propelled her down the hallway. McGonagall followed close behind hands clasped to her front, looking at every sheet they passed with interest and not a little bit of challenge.

There was a small grunting noise on Jack’s left, and Molly halted their progress in the middle of the hallway. She waited for what seemed an arbitrary amount of time before deciding that whatever had made the grunting noise wasn’t going to go off again. Jack squirmed a little in her grip; she hadn’t even said hello to the woman yet, and she was being manhandled. It was something about other people’s mothers.

“Here we are! Just in there dear,” Molly said. She steered Jack towards the last door on the right, reached to pull it open for her and fairly well shoved her inside besides. McGonagall moved to follow but Molly held her up.

“Thought you might like your privacy, the one just across the hall there, the girls will be fine on their own.”

McGonagall’s mouth dropped open slightly, as if she were going to object, but before she could say anything, Molly had wrapped an arm around her waist and shut the door between her and Jack. 

_At least I’m not the only one._

Jack released Macha, who set to hopping about the floor and furniture, fluttering her wings angrily.

“Sorry bird,” Jack said pulling the trunk from her pocket, “Crap.”

She needed McGonagall to undo the shrinking charm, all her things were in miniature and she couldn’t use her wand.

“Bird this fucking sucks,” she said moving to sit on the furthest bed. It was by a window. Whoever her new roommate, or roommates were they wouldn’t have to put up with Macha flying in and out over their beds. 

There were four beds in the room, but it only looked like one was occupied as it was messily made and there was a small pile of books and magazines on the table beside it. It was the one across from her, in fact, and Jack put her trunk back in her pocket, deciding that with the circumstances taken into account she could be forgiven for a little snooping. She hadn’t been expecting to share a room. She’d never had to before and the feeling of being in what was clearly someone else’s space, even if only recently made her feel uneasy. 

She peered down at the little stack of reading material, pointedly avoiding glancing into the open trunk at the foot of the bed. That seemed just a bit too personal. The stack was mostly quidditch and racing broom related, not a lot of help there. As marginally popular as quidditch was in the states it was a bonafide religion to the rest of the world. There did seem to be a theme though. 

Every magazine had Gwenog Jones on the cover. She seemed to have found another Harpies fan. It was actually a shame she couldn’t use her real name. That would have been a hell of an ice breaker. Whoever the Harpies fan was, she probably wouldn’t know who Jack was anyway, but it seemed such a waste. Jack had tried, mostly, to keep from getting a swelled head, but she had to admit the look on people’s faces when she said she played quidditch for a living was usually very satisfying.

Jack had just about worked up the courage to move the magazines and look at the books when the door opened. McGonagall stepped through it and shut it behind her quickly, looking very harried indeed.

“You’d think with the number of children that woman has that she’d get tired of fussing,” she said, giving Jack a tight lipped smile and nodding at her, “Do you feel you can make it through dinner without rehearsal? I know you haven’t practiced the way Xio asked you to.”

Jack flushed a little. No, she had not been repeating the nonsensical lie they’d given her three times a day in the mirror. It was stupid.

“I think I can remember what my name is, and I figured I wasn’t going to be allowed to talk much anyway,” she said dropping the top magazine back on the pile and holding a hand out to Macha.

“Leave her up here,” McGonagall asked, not bothering to acknowledge the attitude.

“If you want her to tear everything this girl owns apart while we’re gone,” Jack said sweetly as Macha fluttered up to her shoulder and clicked her beak at her ear.

“What are you planning on doing with her at Hogwarts?” McGonagall asked, crossing her arms.

“Letting her out, but I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and we just flew for hours. She doesn’t want to be on her own yet,” she said pulling the bird in to her chest and stroking her beak. McGonagall sighed.

“I know it’s been a long day, and a rough one, but just try not to be contrary tonight, all right? For me?” she asked, putting her hand to her brow and covering her eyes with it. 

Jack flushed a little deeper, nodded, then remembered that McGonagall couldn’t see her.

“Yeah, ok,” she said as she stepped towards the door, Macha riding on her shoulder again. She missed her being smaller. She felt like a pirate with her bird constantly perched next to her ear.

“Thank you,” McGonagall said, much more gently. She gave Jack’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as they went back out through the door.

“How many people are here exactly?” Jack asked, remembering to whisper in the hallway just in time.

“I couldn’t get a straight answer out of Molly: at least her minor children and Sirius. There was a meeting tonight, but apparently it’s over already, so there may be a few order members staying for supper,” McGonagall replied as she moved carefully and as silently as she could down the stairs. Jack was about to follow when she noticed…

Jack had frozen at the top of the stairs, looking down them in abject horror. 

McGonagall paused in the hallway waiting for her. The older woman’s brow furrowed, confused as to why Jack wasn’t moving.

Jack’s eyes flicked down the stairs then up again, scanning the wall on her left. There were heads, house elf heads mounted on plaques all along the wall.

_We have a similar preoccupation with decapitation…_

“Jack?” McGonagall called softly, her eyes on the wall now too, “Jack it’s all right, just look the other way.”

Jack wasn’t sure she could do that really, her chest was tightening again. The uppermost plaque was empty, but the one below it was clearly an older female elf. She didn’t look like Nanny per se, but there was something in the droop of her large bat like ears that made Jack’s skin prickle and her jaw start to work, like she was going to be sick.

“Come on,” McGonagall said softly as she climbed the stairs again, she put a hand on Jack’s shoulder as she positioned herself between Jack and the wall and led her down slowly.

Jack could already hear the noise from the kitchen, there was laughter, a lot of laughter coming from the room just below the landing at the top of the stairs. As they reached the bottom, McGonagall pushed in front of her and smiled down as she passed.

“Are you nervous?” she asked. 

Jack thought about lying, then considered the fact that she couldn’t look right at the moment. They were well past any point of dignity now, at least until she forgot about last night, and this afternoon.

“Yeah,” she admitted, nodding a little to illustrate her hands had almost stopped shaking.

_He’s innocent, but has those mounted on the wall?_

“Watch this,” McGonagall said. She rolled her neck a little and the smile faded from her face in an instant. Her eyes narrowed into steely looking slits and her spine straightened as if lightning had struck it. This looked a great deal more like the McGonagall Jack had met her first night in Scotland – the scary, imperious one that made Jack drop behind her out of instinct.

They stepped through the doorway of the kitchen, Jack still watching McGonagall, waiting for the promised crescendo to her little transformation. She gave the rest of the room a quick glance. There was a long table running the length of the large, well-appointed kitchen. It was dusty and looked to have a film of age on it like the rest of the house, but at least it felt about twenty times brighter in here.

At the far end of the table a large huddle of people were bent over the dark wood, inspecting something there, and they were laughing excitedly. More than half of them had bright red hair just like Molly’s. Molly was at the stove, trying to stir three pots at once and open a cabinet besides.

McGonagall surveyed the room, stony faced, then cleared her throat.

“I should think, with this many Gryffindors in one room, that Mrs. Weasley could have expected some assistance.”

The room went utterly still apart from heads snapping up at the end of the table, eyes wide with terror. Jack had to bite hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

“Course Professor-“

“Right Professor-“

“Professor! Lovely to see you-“

Jack didn’t actually catch which red headed teenager offered which apology as they scattered and began assisting their mother, over her strong protestations.

“Miss Tonks? Have I lost my touch?” McGonagall asked the witch sitting at the end of the table, her hair bright pink this time. Jack felt the slightest burn start at her ears, it was the auror from the courtyard at Hogwarts. 

“You said Gryffindor,” she said, blushing brightly and standing to help.

“You left out the part where you’re an adult.”

Jack didn’t need anyone to introduce the man sitting at the head of the table. His wanted posters had made their way well past New York. Sirius Black looked a lot cleaner and perhaps a bit less thin than the picture she’d seen, but there was something about him that still looked just as feral.

“Mr. Black,” McGonagall said with an officious nod at Sirius. 

Black looked her up and down, then turned to Jack. Jack looked away.

“You didn’t mention the bird,” he said. His voice was alternately hoarse and creaky sounding like a poorly oiled hinge.

Jack reached a hand up and stroked at Macha’s beak when she spread her wings and shook her feathers out at their host.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” McGonagall said. She pulled a chair back from the table and gestured Jack into it. They had more than half a table between them and Black, but Jack would’ve given every dragot in her vault for another ten feet, or an ocean.

“That’s enough!” Molly Weasley shouted from the stove. It was right behind Jack and the noise made her jump.

“But-“ one of the boys said as Jack turned to watch his mother shoo him, his older brothers and his sister back towards the table.

“I love you all, but I can manage much faster on my own,” Molly insisted waving a dishtowel in the face of the twins. They raised their hands in mock defense and hurried back to the table, clearly happy for the reprieve.

“Tonks dear, really that’s very sweet but you’ve worked all day dear have a seat,” Molly said a little more gently as she took a smoking dishtowel from the aurors hands and gestured her back to the table. Tonks, to Jack’s delight, took the seat across from her.

“So,” the auror said, giving McGonagall a wary glance before turning her focus to Jack, “it would seem Madam Hooch was not exactly tru-“ she began with a sharp grin that withered instantly when McGonagall cleared her throat.

“Miss Tonks,” she said, her voice low, eyes flicking to the flame headed teenagers retaking their seats at the other end of the table. The three boys all sat around Black again. The girl however was currently pulling out the chair next to Tonks and peering at Jack with obvious interest. She was maybe two years younger than Jack herself. Jack gave her a weak smile, sure she had found her roommate.

“Did I say something?” Tonks asked, looking from Jack to McGonagall with a nervous looking smile. 

McGonagall glared at her. 

“You know, I think this would be a good time to revisit my concerns Minerva,” Black croaked from the end of the table, leaning forward and smiling in what Jack was sure had once been a charming way. His uneven, browning teeth made it a good deal less appealing than she was sure he was used to.

“I thought the headmaster made his views on that perfectly clear. Besides, I can’t think of a worse time,” McGonagall said as Molly set a plate in front of her. Sausage and potatoes. Jack’s stomach did a little flip. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Dumbledore isn’t here. The girl is, over my strong objection,” Black said, his wide parchment lidded eyes flicking to Jack. Molly set a larger helping of sausage and potatoes in front of her, and Jack buried her gaze in the plate.

“What objections?” the red headed girl asked, eyes narrowing in confusion. Jack watched the steam curling off the food and said nothing. She had a strong suspicion what his objections were, and she didn’t think it likely that telling him he was wrong would help much. There was something in the way he sat, the way he spoke, that reminded her a great deal of her father. 

“We are not having this discussion now,” Molly snapped, pulling the pot of mashed potatoes from the stove and spooning another large heap of them onto Jack’s already overfull plate.

“When would you like to have it?” Sirius asked, snide. “Before or after she stays the night in a room with your only daughter?”

McGonagall was standing before Jack could flush any redder.

“I am sure I do not know what you mean to imply-“ she snapped, her voice even but biting nonetheless.

Jack had the strong desire to stand and leave the room. The youngest of the three boys at the end of the table stood and moved towards the stove, shaking his head as if to restore his hearing. 

“I think you do, Professor! Deputy Headmistress, I think you do know what !’m-!“ Black shouted back at her, leaning forward rather than standing. The twins on either side of him leaned back in their chairs, one of them nudging at his elbow in a warning that Black completely ignored.

“Mr. Black I would think you of all people would understand-“ McGonagall said, her fists trembling with fury.

“I do! My parents, my worthless brother, I know these-“ Black made absolutely no attempt to measure his voice. It had seemed to Jack before that the man might be anemic. If that were the case all of the blood he possessed was flooding his face as he continued on the offensive.

“WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS NOW!” there was a deafening bang on the table just to Jack’s right, and Macha hopped from her shoulder in alarm, cawing back at Molly Weasley, who had slammed the spoon from the potatoes so hard against the table that bits of mash were now spattered on the ceiling.

“No Molly, we are going to talk about it! They,” Black said, lowering his voice and gesturing to the twins, then the other boy who had made himself a plate of sausage and was trying to gently pry the potato spoon from his mother’s grasp, “have a right to know if they are going to be expected to share rooms with-“

“With what exactly?” McGonagall snapped. Jack looked at the small mountain of potatoes in front of her, fork in hand, not sure whether to eat or to leave. There was that familiar tight feeling in her chest again. 

“That’s an excellent question Minerva, one that no one has deigned to answer yet,” Black said, his mouth screwed into a sneer of contempt, “No one seems to be able to tell me anything about her other than-“

“DID I NOT SAY THAT WE ARE NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!“ Molly was shouting again as the youngest boy took the seat next to his sister and shoved her gently. She smacked his shoulder, eyes narrowing at the adults.

“I can tell you something about her,” the red headed harpies fan said, but she hadn’t said it loud enough. Tonks and Jack however had looked up instantly, and the youngest boy turned his face from the dinner plate in confusion.

“WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT! IT’S NOT FAIR MOLLY!” Black was shouting back at her when the red headed girl stood from the table. The adults, turned to face her with consternation and not a little bit of annoyance clear on their features. They were, after all, in the middle of something.

“Can I save everyone a lot of time? Are we not supposed to know that she’s Jack McCubbin?” the red headed girl asked, shrugging and pointing to Jack with exasperation writ large.

“How-“ McGongall began, her mouth snapping shut as soon as she’d realized this question would confirm that the girl was right. 

Jack fought a smile as she lifted a forkful of potatoes to her mouth and shoveled them in. She wasn’t going to be in trouble this time.

_Told you I was famous._ She couldn’t help herself.

“Ginny, I don’t know what you’re going on abou,t but-“ Molly began lumping another spoonful of potatoes onto Jack’s plate and missing her rising fork by less than a moment.

“I’m not going on about anything. That’s her name. She’s a professional quidditch player!” the girl, Ginny apparently, said raising her arms to her mother and gesturing to Jack like she was a prize in a sweepstakes, “Tonks, am I wrong?”

Tonks shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes flicking to McGonagall who was staring at Ginny with a mix of pride and horror. 

“I’m right,” Ginny said, nodding and retaking her seat. She scooped a half a forkful of potatoes off her brother’s plate and held the food out to Macha, who hopped forward curiously then began furiously pecking at the fork.

“Oi!” her brother barked, “Those are mine!”

“Not now they’re not,” Ginny snapped smiling at Jack. “She’s a really pretty bird.”

“Don’t give her table scraps. She’ll never let me eat dinner again,” Jack said, swallowing her own potatoes.

“Your darling niece doesn’t seem to be denying that-“ Black began, clearly at once amused by this turn of events and a little disappointed that he’d been cheated of the reveal. She couldn’t stand the tone of it, the smarmy, superior, righteous tone of his voice. 

Jack sighed, screwed up her courage and cut him off.

“My name _is_ Jack McCubbin, I’m sixteen years old, I’m from Salem Massachusetts, I play for the Brooklyn Banshees, I’m a chaser,” Jack blurted out, pushing the food away from her. She wouldn’t let him have the moment, “and this is why that asshole doesn’t think I should be in the same room as any of you.”

McGonagall made a move to stop her but Jack was faster, she stood from the table and pulled the sleeve of her sweatshirt up over her elbow, showing the mark first to Ginny and Tonks, then shifting so the boys could see it.

“There, now it’s done. He’s happy, and I can eat this really, very good food in peace while you all argue about whether or not I’m some kind of joyless, homicidal shit-pail,” Jack sat back down, face red, refusing to look at McGonagall.

“This is, in fact, why I wanted the rehearsal,” the deputy Headmistress sighed to herself as she sat down next to Jack and glared daggers down the table.

“You’re sixteen?” one of the boys at the end of the table asked, leaning forward. Black was openly sulking now, and Jack decided she liked the way it looked on him as she turned to answer the question.

“Yeah. I’ll be seventeen in December.”

“I’m Fred,” the boy said with a grin, “You’re a professional? At Sixteen?” 

Jack smiled a little despite herself.

“That’s enough! Bad enough we’re talking about it. Dinner’s getting cold, you lot all of you get plates,” Molly snapped.

“You gave her all the potatoes,” Fred’s twin said. Jack grinned a little sheepishly and passed her plate down, the twins carving large sections of potatoes off of it before passing it back.

“Do you want gravy dear?” Molly asked, the boat she was holding looked to hold about a gallon of the stuff and Jack nodded, but reached out for it to pour herself. She didn’t see nearly enough napkins to handle another outbreak of conversation.

“Yes, well, I expect you had private flying instructors and whatever gear you needed, didn’t you?” Black asked quietly, ignoring the plate of food that Molly set in front of him. Jack glowered at him.

“This is your house, right? Doesn’t seem to me that you have a lot of room to go making fun of me for having rich parents,” she said, stabbing a sausage and taking a vicious bite of it.

“My parents didn’t care for me much. I was never the beneficiary-“ Black began eyes sharpening, leaning forward again, glad that Jack had taken the bait.

“Nonsense.”

It was a new voice this time, and Jack looked up. Behind Black in a doorway she hadn’t noticed was a tall, shabby looking, greying wizard with several long scars across his face. McGonagall’s offhanded comment about werewolves came rushing back to her and Jack stiffened a little in her seat. She’d never met a werewolf, at least she didn’t think she ever had, but this man certainly looked how she would have expected one to be.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, don’t get involved Moony,” Black croaked sitting back and putting a hand to his face as if he had a sudden headache.

“Don’t go fibbing then, your parents gave you everything you wanted, until you stopped wanting it and told them to sod off,” the wizard said, stepping into the kitchen and nodding to Molly as she offered him a plate.

“For excellent reasons and a good deal younger than sixteen,” Black snapped back at him.

“Remus, lovely to see you,” McGonagall said with what appeared to be honest affection at the shabby looking wizard. He nodded to her.

“You as well Minerva, I do miss our staff fire chats,” he said with a thin smile. It was crooked but a good deal more pleasant than Black’s. Jack watched as he took a bite of sausage, then frowned a little when he caught her staring at him. She shouldn’t be rude, werewolf or not he seemed to be enjoying Black’s outrage, and that was good enough for her to call him not an enemy.

“Yes, everyone’s happy to be here but me,” Black grumbled, looking darkly at the twins, who had taken Remus’s appearance as an opening to move further down the table. Not Fred, his twin was sitting just on the other side of McGonagall, a good deal closer than Jack would have guess him to be comfortable with considering how he’d reacted to her entrance.

“So, how’d you know who she was, Gin?” Tonks asked, nudging at Ginny’s plate a little and raising an eyebrow.

“I should have assumed you’d told her. She can all but draw a map to your office by the way she talks about it,” Molly snapped, taking the seat on Jack’s right and snapping a napkin out before placing it rather daintily into her lap.

“I didn’t say anything!” Tonks said, raising her hands in defense.

“QuidWitch Monthly,” Ginny said through a mouthful of sausage.

“There’s no such thing,” her brother, the younger one said, “there’s Quidditch Weekly and Daily sheets but there’s no-“

“Quid-WITCH Ron, it focuses on women players. I’ve been reading it for three years,” Ginny said, reaching across the table to scoop potatoes and gravy off of Jack’s plate and onto hers.

“Honestly, Ron!”

“Seriously, Ron!” 

Both of the twins said, shaking their heads in unison, but Ron ignored them. 

“I thought that was just a Harpies fan magazine,” Ron said, looking quizzically at his sister.

Jack looked around the table, slightly dumbfounded. No one had yet said a word about the mark. They were talking about quidditch. She was liking the Weasleys more and more by the second.

“It’s not just the Harpies,” Ginny sighed reaching for the salt shaker and rolling her eyes. She looked to Jack for confirmation that boys were idiots before continuing, “Though, I can see how you thought that, they’re fairly well obsessed with Gwenog Jones.”

“To be fair, so am I,” Jack said, recent interactions not withstanding, of course, her affection for the Harpies captain hadn’t diminished.

“Is no one the slightest bit interested as to how or why she came by that?” Black asked gesturing at Jack’s arm and waving off Remus, who was offering him the gravy boat.

“Well, she would have had to be about three,” Molly said with a pointed look at him.

“Yes, which means what?” Black asked. Jack looked up from her food.

“My parents are slightly larger ass-“ she began, McGonagall elbowed her hard in the ribs and Jack winced.

“That’s quite enough,” McGonagall growled at her, turning to Ginny.

“You understand of course that you are expected to keep this information to yourselves?” she asked eyes skating around the table to each of the Weasley children in turn. They nodded, the twins a little more earnestly than Ron or Ginny, who merely glanced at each other like they’d heard this before.

“I’m friends with Harry Potter, I’m not allowed to talk to anyone,” Ron said scooping another forkful of potatoes into his mouth.

“Did you say Harry Potter?” Jack asked her eyes darting to Ron. He nodded. 

“Harry Potter as in ‘The boy who lived’ Harry Potter? That Harry Potter?” Jack asked, her fork dropped to the plate with a clink.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend,” Ron said chewing loudly, and earning a disapproving look from Molly.

“Yeah, ickle Ronnikins is what Harry can’t live without isn’t that right Ron?” Fred asked smirking at his twin and then giving Ginny a lurid wink.

“Will you stop teasing your brother about that?” Molly asked as Ron went pink at the ears, it was granted hard to tell under the hair.

“Course we will,” Fred said looking to Not Fred, “right about when we start talking to Percy again.”

Molly spilled the milk she was pouring onto the table with a short bark of what sounded like a sob.

Ginny hissed at her older brother and smacked at his hand, “Will you stop talking about you know who?” she asked.

“Now Gin that’s a bit unfair, he’s not that big a pile of-“Not Fred snapped at her.

“That’s quite enough,” McGonagall said laying a hand on Molly’s and glaring at Not Fred, “George don’t upset your mother.”

“Sorry Professor,” he spat taking a vicious stab at a sausage; a sausage Jack was sure was newly christened ‘Percy,’ whoever that was.

“So how did you get that?” Tonks asked nodding at Jack’s arm, the question, phrased a bit more gently was less upsetting.

“I don’t exactly know?” Jack began, looking darkly at Black, daring him to interject, “I never had It, and then a few weeks ago, we were playing the Harpies and I fell off my broom and I woke up with it there. It’s like it was hiding all this time.”

Tonks and Ginny both looked at Jack’s arm, like they were afraid it was catching.

“Jack’s parents are Death Eaters. It would seem they placed the mark on her as a child. She is not a Death Eater, and I would stake my life on that if anyone is the slightest bit interested in it,” McGonagall said, looking around the table and pausing for a good long while on Sirius Black.

“Your life, your choice Minerva, I just wish you would extend the children the same courtesy,” Black said finally reaching for a fork as McGonagall’s went about a quarter inch into the table with a resounding thump.

“Xiomara saw the whole thing happen, the headmaster is convinced, I am convinced, and Jack is in a great deal of danger herself Sirius, so I will thank you to keep your snide comments to yourself,” McGonagall hissed as Macha pecked at Ginny’s plate, asking almost politely for more food.

“Well if Hooch saw it,” Sirius said with an eyeroll. “Are we taking Hooch’s word for things now?” 

“I am,” McGonagall growled at him, her lips tight with anger. Jack looked up, surprising herself just how offended she was on Hooch’s behalf.

“You’ll have to forgive Sirius,” Remus said smiling at Jack and gesturing towards the salt, “He’s never understood that he isn’t the only one with a terrible family life.”

“I certainly do understand it, look at Harry!” Black exclaimed, looking pointedly at Jack, “He’s stuck with those awful muggles and we’re offering safe harbor to someone who might well attack him come September!”

“Why the hell would I attack Harry Potter?” Jack asked, knowing the answer but wanting to make him say it.

“Because that thing on your arm means we can’t trust you girl,” Black said, looking pained at the thought.

“Why not? Snape’s in the order, and he’s got one,” Ron said through yet more potatoes, “and his was voluntary.”

“Professor Snape, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said to him, looking not at all displeased.

“Right, Professor Snape, and Professor Lupin’s a Werewolf, and Sirius is a murderer-“

“ALLEGED-“ Sirius barked.

“Attempted,” Remus corrected him.

“And Ginny was possessed by you know who-“

“Ron!” Ginny smacked him again.

“Mundungus is a thief, Hagrid has a pet Acromantula-“

“Mr. Weasley is this going somewhere?” McGonagall asked staring at Ron in open amazement.

“I’m just saying if it’s on her, but she doesn’t want it, what’s the big deal?” Ron asked looking down at his plate.

Jack was too busy trying to process what he had just listed to be adequately grateful. 

“Ten points-“McGonagall paused, “force of habit.”

There was a round of laughter, and Jack grinned at McGonagall, an uncharacteristic blush on the older woman’s cheeks. Jack returned her attention to the truly good food on her plate as Ginny expressed her astonishment at Ron’s open mindedness.

“Hermione would be proud of you,” Ginny said approvingly with a pointed look at Tonks.

“Don’t tell her, she’ll expect it of me,” he muttered scraping the last of the potatoes from his plate.

“We still have not addressed-“ Black began as Jack finally pushed the plate away from her, too full to move. Macha hopped over to it and began picking at bits of sausage she’d left.

“Fine, Sirius, fine, why don’t the children head upstairs, and we shall have it out would that please you?” Remus asked pushing his empty plate towards the middle of the table.

“We’re not going to bed, Dad’s not even home yet!” Ginny said pushing her plate forward as well. Jack stood from the table and reached for as many plates as were within reach. She was perfectly happy to let Black have it out without her. She was suddenly vey tired. It might have been the food or the surprisingly safe feeling but she was suddenly very much in favor of testing the comfort of the ancient mattress in the room upstairs.

“You don’t have to go to bed dear, just go to your room for a bit. Jack’s had a long journey. I’m sure she’d be happy for a rest, and you all can get acquainted without any unpleasant distractions,” Molly said with a pointed look at Sirius. Jack, who had stacked most all the plates but hers as Macha was still picking at it, moved to the sink and began searching for a brush.

“I don’t understand why we have to leave. We’ve heard all the good bits,” George said resting his chin on his hand and raising an eyebrow at his mother.

“We have heard all the good bits, right?” Fred asked giving Jack an appraising look and a crooked grin.

“I think so,” she said, returning the smile as she finally laid hands on a dish brush.

“Oh, dear don’t do that, I’ll have it done in a moment. The lot of you go on upstairs,” Molly said smiling broadly at Jack as she rose and took the brush from her, using it as a baton to point the kids towards the exit.

“Never answered my question,” George said as he sighed and passed Molly to go into the hallway.

“Nor shall I,” Molly quipped, as Ron followed George. Jack was about to turn and follow Ginny, hoping to ask a few questions of her own, after all _Hogwarts: a History_ was fine but an actual student would be able to maybe point out some of the finer details that the book so infuriatingly glossed over. Things like where people slept or what the point of House Points was.

“Jack,” McGonagall said softly, grabbing Jack by the elbow of her sweatshirt, “I thought you might like this back.”

Jack took the journal as McGonagall pulled it from her robes and smiled broadly.

“Thank you,” Jack said breathing a sigh of relief as Macha fluttered to her shoulder and pecked at the journal’s binding emphatically. She wasn’t the only one who thought it had been too long since she’d talked to Sadie.

As Jack moved into the hallway there was a sudden rush of noise from ahead of her. The Weasley children were all huddled in the foyer, anxiously not touching the walls as they took turns hugging a middle-aged wizard in forest green robes. The red hair was a dead giveaway as to who he was.

Jack decided not to intrude on the family greeting and hurried up the stairs watching her feet and not daring to look up or to her right, Macha bouncing happily on her shoulder as she found her room and closed the door behind them.

“Well that was fun,” she said to the bird as Macha fluttered to the window and pecked at the glass.

“Fine, abandon me to murderers and Weasleys,” Jack said, smiling despite herself. Apart from Sirius, she could think of a lot worse people to be locked away with.

As Macha fluttered off the sill, out for a night on the town in London, Jack flopped on the bed and opened the journal. All of her quills were shrunken in her pocket. She spotted a pencil on Ginny’s bedside table and moved to retrieve it, reasoning that Ginny didn’t seem the type to mind and she was already preoccupied.

After she’d sat back down she examined the last page with writing on it.

_I’ll give it back to her tomorrow evening. There’s no need to worry. She’s quite safe._

She recognized McGonagall’s neat looping script, looked at Sadie’s spidery handwriting and set the pencil down.

_You ok?_

The thought of how she’d left things with Sadie had been forced from her mind by the fight with Hooch, Flitwick’s riddles and the sudden appearance of her father. It had returned however on the long flight to London.

Jack watched the mostly empty page for a long two minutes, waiting for a reply. She was just starting to think she should close the journal when Sadie’s thin letters began snaking onto the page.

_Yeah, I’m ok. Are you ok? ___

__Jack heaved a sigh of relief and smiled to herself, where to begin._ _

___I’m really sorry about last night. ____ _

____……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………_ _ _ _

____Jack had just gotten Sadie’s opinion on Flitwick’s riddle when Ginny opened the door to the room and let herself in, practically on tiptoe._ _ _ _

____“Hey, Fred and George— you know what it would take too long to explain but I think you should come out here,” she said nodding towards the hallway._ _ _ _

_____Sadie are you going to be up in twenty? _she wrote hastily. Macha, who had grown tired of London after just thirty minutes, cawed at her and pecked at the book before fluttering to Ginny and perching on her shoulder.__ _ _ _ _

______After Sadie replied in the affirmative Jack stood off the bed and moved to follow Ginny into the hallway, careful to move quietly._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Think you made a friend for life,” she muttered as Macha refused to move from Ginny’s shoulder onto her own._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Ladies, quiet if you please,” Fred said. At least Jack thought it was Fred. It was a lot harder to tell now that they weren’t sitting on opposite sides of a table. There was a long bit of beige colored yarn sticking out of his ear._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What’s…?” Jack began, George, possibly interrupted her._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Extendable ears, my friend, take a listen,” he said, handing her a rolled up string out of his pocket. Jack put the smaller end in her ear and glanced over the railing. The wider ends of the twins’ ears were lying flat on the floor in front of the kitchen door. Jack could already hear voices from the kitchen, though they were far too soft for her to discern what they were talking about. She looked to Ginny, who was unrolling her own string, and watched as she let it drop over the railing just next to maybe George’s._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack held the narrow piece in her ear as she let the wider one drop._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Someone has to be concerned for Harry!” Sirius hissed, Jack could hear him as well as if she’d still been downstairs. She looked up at the twins, open wonder on her face._ _ _ _ _ _

______Probably Fred waggled an eyebrow at her and gave her a cheerful thumbs up._ _ _ _ _ _

______“We are all concerned for Harry, Sirius, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t help her,” Molly said sounding exasperated, as if she’d made this point several times._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Because more Death Eaters sniffing around Hogwarts is apt to make him safer?” Sirius asked, there was a sharp bang, like he’d hit his fist on the table. Ginny rolled her eyes next to Jack._ _ _ _ _ _

______“We had one for a bloody DADA teacher this year. One of our better ones, frankly,” she said giving Jack a weak grin._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hey, only true loser you got was Lockhart,” George murmured, nodding back towards the kitchen._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No but it’s not as if they don’t know he’s there, is it Sirius? And it will make her a great deal safer,” McGonagall this time. Jack smirked a little, pleased that without her present McGonagall might give her temper more free reign._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I thought her father went window shopping in Hogsmeade this afternoon?” Sirius asked._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Her father did go looking in Hogsmeade this afternoon yes, but I have a strong suspicion it’s because it’s where he’d run to, not because anyone told him where she was,” McGonagall answered._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why would he run to Europe? Certainly, we must consider the possibility that one of the girls teammates said something,” Remus this time. She shouldn’t be angry with him, he was trying to be fair, but that didn’t stop the strong desire to run down there and explain in the strongest possible terms how wrong he was._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I have it on good authority that the only two of the Banshees to speak to the McCubbins told them exactly what Albus told them to,” McGonagall said._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well then someone else then? There was a whole stadium full of people there that night Minerva. Maybe someone saw her leave with Xio?” Remus offered. Jack doubted that very much. If Hooch had been any more cloak and dagger about the whole thing they would still be on the road._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Or maybe Xio just mentioned her off hand to one of her drinking buddies,” Sirius said, more than a little nastily, at least Jack thought._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You know perfectly well that I will not discuss that with you,” McGonagall’s voice had gone high and strained and cold. Jack thought that was a sign of an impending explosion. They might want to take the ears out, they wouldn’t need them much longer._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Listen Min, I know you’re biased, but you have to admit Xio isn’t always the most reliable,” Molly began, “After all there was a reason she wasn’t in the order the first time.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Neither was I,” McGonagall said, Jack heard her chair creak as she shifted, “None of you have held that against me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You weren’t best friends with Death Eaters. I know snogging someone makes you see things a little off-“ Sirius began._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack almost jumped at the audible gasps from next to her, judging by the Weasley children’s faces, McGonagall and Hooch kept their relationship quite private._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I assure you my vision is fine,” McGonagall snapped, “I don’t think I have to remind you what happened to her friends.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Macha jumped onto the railing and pecked at the string hanging from Ginny’s ear. Jack poked her in the side and tried to shoo her away but Macha hopped away from her, pecking at Fred’s and George’s in turn._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No, nor do you have to remind us what those friends did before she came round,” Sirius said._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’ll need reminding seeing as I was all of two,” Tonks offered._ _ _ _ _ _

______Macha hopped to the end of the railing, then fluttered towards one of the sheets on the wall._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Shit,” Jack said as the bird landed and a deafening screech issued into the hallway._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What the hell?” Ginny asked, mostly out of shock as they all ripped the extendable ears out. Macha, pleased with the response hopped to another painting which began shouting curses, then another that started screaming very vulgar names._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Bird!” Jack half whispered, half pleaded as Macha began hopping from frame to frame, waking their occupants and sending the entire house into a cacophony of profanity and screaming hysterics._ _ _ _ _ _

______“What on earth is going on out-“ Molly stormed into the hall, tripped over the first extendable ear in her path and leveled her wrathful stare on her children in less than a second._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hi mum,” Fred said waving and winking through a grimace._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I don’t know what these are, but drop them THIS INSTANT!” Molly shouted. Jack let hers go without a moment’s hesitation._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jack, dear, do you think you could get her down from there?” Molly shouted over the din. Jack gave her an embarrassed shrug._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I can’t use my wand,” she said, her face flushing red as McGonagall, Tonks and Lupin all crowded into the doorframe._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jack?” McGonagall shouted gesturing to the crow who was starting to set one of the larger frames to swinging back and forth. Whoever was under the sheet was making vaguely seasick sort of noises._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She likes spiders?” Jack offered raising her hands to her ears to protect them from the flood of abuse literally pouring out of the walls._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Right,” McGonagall said stepping into the hall and raising her wand._ _ _ _ _ _

______“JUST ONE!” Jack shouted, but it was too late. McGonagall jumped a little and the Weasleys screamed as spiders of every shape and description came whizzing through the air towards McGonagall’s wand. Macha hopped off the painting and started swooping around the hallway trying to pluck her snacks out of the air as they zoomed by. Ginny had ducked down low, hands over her hair and Jack could do little more than wince in apology as McGonagall swatted the things off of her. The cottage had been bad, but Grimmauld Place was apparently infested._ _ _ _ _ _

______When the barrage finally stopped Jack glanced over the railing to see Tonks and Mrs. Weasley holding each other tightly, faces white. McGonagall was standing perfectly still, her wand a twitching ball of legs like some sort of nightmare cotton candy stick. Macha fluttered down to her arm and began to peck the spiders off her wand one by one. The older witch looked up to the landing, shock and horror on her face._ _ _ _ _ _

______“W-W-Wh-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack heard an odd sort of wheezing hiccupping sound behind her and turned to see Ron standing in the hallway shaking like a leaf, white as snow._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh Ron…” Ginny said standing and running her hands down her arms, “Are you all right?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I-I-I- was sitting on the bed and all of a sudden th-th-th” he stammered. Ginny moved to wrap an arm around his shoulders._ _ _ _ _ _

______“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” George said, easing back up to a standing position._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Georgie,” Fred said looking at Ron’s face, “You think we could-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______“YEAH,” George said nodding emphatically._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Spider Spinners!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Arachnid Attracting Acid Pops!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Tarantula Enchanters!”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“A broom and a dustpan for now if you please!” Molly shouted from the hallway._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s all right Ron. It’s going to be all right. Look at it this way, now you know there aren’t any in your room,” Ginny said softly as she led her brother back down the hall._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Jack,” McGonagall said lifting her arm a little, “I’d like to send these away now,” she said looking pointedly at Macha._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack scurried down the stairs to retrieve her bird, looking at the floorboards the entire way._ _ _ _ _ _

______……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack was changed and under the covers, having just said goodnight to Sadie, by the time Ginny came back to the bedroom._ _ _ _ _ _

______“He ok?” she asked, setting the journal on the bedside table and laying the pencil on top of it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“He’ll be fine. You’d think after Aragog he’d be a little better about the small ones,” she said reaching into her trunk for a nightshirt._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m sorry about the ears, I didn’t mean to ruin it,” Jack said with a weak smile of apology._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You didn’t, believe me. She would’ve caught us with them eventually anyway. Besides, Fred and George made loads of them,” Ginny said pulling the shirt over her head then pulling the one she was wearing off underneath it._ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s a neat trick,” Jack said, honestly impressed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah well if you live in a dorm and like your privacy,” Ginny said with a small smile._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah none of the Banshees really bother in the locker room,” Jack said with an exaggerated frown, “I’ve seen some things.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ginny laughed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I sort of got the impression from that spread they did on you that you wouldn’t have minded,” she said with a pointed grin as she sat on her bed._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Our seeker is like, I don’t know, a hundred and fifty,” Jack said with an eyebrow raise, glad Loretta wasn’t there to hear her._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah, well, I don’t get to watch people I like take their clothes off either,” Ginny said with a grin as she sat back onto the pillow. Jack had a troubling thought._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You don’t, I mean if you want me to leave-“ she started. Ginny dropped the magazine to the blanket._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No, that’s not what I meant, you’re fine. Don’t be so on edge. If nothing else Fred and George will pick you apart in a week,” she said lifting the magazine again. Gwenog Jones was pummeling a bludger on its front._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Right. At least they’ll be the only ones trying for the foreseeable future,” Jack said lying back._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I dunno your bird is sort of mad,” Ginny said giving Macha a cautious glance. The crow was dozing on top of a curtain rod._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She’s not used to this,” Jack said, surprised how easily Ginny was talking to her. She would have expected this to be a bit more awkward._ _ _ _ _ _

______“None of us are,” Ginny said, lowering the magazine and looking serious for a moment, “Can I ask you a question?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack frowned, here it was._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sure,” she said, better to get it over with._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Would you say Killian’s lost a step?” Ginny asked._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack blinked, the Harpies chaser?_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Uh, no? I don’t think so.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Right, I mean I guess I don’t have to worry about it for four more years anyway, and of course I’ll have to pay my dues, but I figured she’s the oldest chaser so if any of them are like to leave it would be her,” she said looking a little disappointed as she raised the magazine again._ _ _ _ _ _

______Jack leaned back into the pillow, sensing that unless she didn’t want it to be, the conversation was over._ _ _ _ _ _

______She really liked the Weasleys. That much was clear. As she settled down under the mildew smelling quilt she thought again, that all things taken into account, there were a lot worse places to be than here. Though she couldn’t help but admit to herself she would have felt a good deal safer if Hooch were in a room down the hall._ _ _ _ _ _


	9. Breakfast and Bastards

Jack awoke the next morning before the sun had fully risen. Macha dropping bits of dust and crumbled plaster on her face was like to do that. She opened her eyes and glared at the crow; she was sitting on the curtain rod over the window that Jack had opened for her the night before. Jack stumbled wearily as she stood and shoved the ancient window open. The crow gave her a brief ‘kah’ of thanks before hopping down to the sill, surveying the misty London morning, and taking off into the chilly air.

Jack thought about settling back under the covers and trying to sleep off the ache in her body from the day before. Running, hiding, flying for hours, and the near acrobatics she had to perform to keep from touching anything in this house had left her feeling a little like she had after the Banshees sixteen hour match last season. It was no good though, now that the bird had been seen to, she was awake – too awake to sleep. She’d been so exhausted last night that she hadn’t had the energy to keep herself up with worry. Now there was little hope she’d be able to clear her mind enough to do more than lie there panicking. Food, food would help. 

_Don’t suppose I’m allowed to go see if I can find a bodega._ She thought bitterly.

It would have been one thing if she was allowed to explore the city; she envied Macha more than she would have liked to admit.

Jack eyed her trunk, she would have preferred to shower first thing, but the only bathroom she’d been shown the night before didn’t have a tub in it, there was no way she was going to go hunting for one on her own. She did a quick sniff test, decided she’d make it at least until she could ask Molly or someone else where a shower might be hidden in the ancient and most noble rubble pile of Black, and reached for her favorite pair of jeans. With the option of going out well and truly nixed, the only other option would be to make herself something, which meant wandering down to the kitchen and snooping around cabinets in the hope there were either some truly amazing non-perishing charms on them or that Molly had restocked the house first thing. It certainly would have been Jack’s first order of business.

_Particularly with that many mouths to feed._

Jack turned and looked to the only other occupied bed in the room, Ginny was sound asleep, half under, half sprawled over the quilt, quidditch magazine spread across her stomach and hair sticking out. Jack smiled to herself; she could have been Keysha’s twin. It was the wee hours of the morning at home, Keysha probably wasn’t even in bed yet, Sadie had said she was going out with Becca when they’d said goodnight. Jack had been so concerned with her parents, her safety, her arm…she hadn’t had any real time to feel homesick, but thinking about what the Banshees were doing threatened to unleash a flood of it: it was too damn early.

Jack tiptoed into the hallway, being careful not to let the door slam behind her. It had taken almost an hour for Sirius to shout each individual ancestor into silence the night before and if there was one person she didn’t want to have to go looking for at this hour it was the lord of the manor. She had to admit, watching him rail against every one of his numerous, forebears, each more objectively horrible than the one before, had softened her opinion of him if only slightly. In Salem, Jack’s response to previous McCubbins had largely been to move along as quickly as she could. Sirius’s approach was louder, and a good deal more stressful, but there was a certain amount of admirable courage in it that made Jack grit her teeth. 

The stairs were actually easier alone, staring at her shoes and not having to worry about knocking into anyone gave Jack plenty of room to maneuver around the grisly décor on her way down to the kitchen. At least no one would watch her wince and watch the far wall as she walked. 

It was as she was entering the kitchen that it truly sunk in for Jack that she was the only one awake. The room that had been bustling and jovial the night before, was now utterly silent and empty. In a way this was preferable, no questions or verbal sparring until she’d had a cup of coffee sounded like an excellent thing. On the other hand, this meant there was no one to interrogate as to the location of what she’d need to make coffee, if any was even available, and the idea of poking around the Blacks’ kitchen unsupervised sent an uncomfortable shudder through her. Hopefully if there were any cursed sugar bowls, the Weasleys had seen to them.

The first cabinet, and the two after were nothing but flatware, no hint of food. The stove was massive, Jack would have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t looking forward to using it. But it did take up a large amount of space that would’ve been more conveniently pantry. All the cabinets yielded the same result, even as Jack grew bolder and flung them open wide, to be sure she didn’t miss anything. There was enough flatware, glasses, pots, pans and cutlery to outfit a battalion but as far as she could tell, no food. She tried the closet at the end of the line of cabinets. It was almost entirely bare apart from several large boxes of tea and blessedly, a small tin of coffee grounds. 

At least it was progress. 

There were two doors on the far side of the kitchen that Jack hadn’t checked yet, largely because she was a little afraid to open them. She crossed the floor anyway, telling herself it was stupid, even if one of them was the cellar, she’d walked through the attic and come out unscathed. The odds that one of them was a pantry were high, and if nothing else, she’d be damned if she was going to have coffee with no cream. 

Her parents house had a cellar. Jack had never been inside it, and had been warned repeatedly not to open the door or go down there for any reason. Jack was starting to wonder why that command had never bothered her, other than the fact that she’d had a child’s natural fear of the basement and she’d never truly intended to run afoul of their warnings in the first place. Now…now she was wondering what had been too dangerous, or too dark, for her to see.

She was just about to try the door on the left when a clinking sound behind her stopped her progress. Jack froze, hand hovering over the doorknob before turning to look.

There was a large brown sack moving through the kitchen on this side of the table. She’d missed it standing on the other side. The sack had two rail-thin knobbly looking legs protruding out from under its sagging, bouncing bottom. 

“Hello?” Jack asked turning towards the sack. The knobbly legs froze and two bat like ears perked up just enough for their tips to show over the sack’s bulk.

It was a house elf. Jack let out an anxious breath as the little elf turned to face her, he was gaunt, thin, his eyes sunken in dark sockets.

“It talks to Kreacher. Kreacher doesn’t trust it,” the elf murmured. Jack raised an eyebrow. It sounded like the elf was talking to himself, but she had certainly heard stranger speech patterns from house elves.

“I’m Jack,” she said taking a tentative step towards the elf and giving a friendly wave, this was a stroke of luck, if anyone in the house was going to know where she could find things in the kitchen…

“Kreacher doesn’t care what it’s called…” the elf muttered, turning to resume his march out of the kitchen. 

“What’s your name?” Jack asked, stepping forward again. She wasn’t sure what she had done to offend the elf, but he gave an exasperated sounding grunt as he turned.

“My mistress cries all day, young master Black brought filth into her house, he covered my mistress with a sheet, only one who cares now is Kreacher…” he muttered, he seemed inclined to go on a good while more and Jack cleared her throat.

“That’s very sad, uh Kreacher?” Jack said, blushing a little, not quite sure of what to say. She’d heard of elves going senile in their old age and Kreacher certainly looked like he’d been around a long time. She was sure that being the house elf of this particular family probably had a tendency to fast track that process.

“What does it want now?” Kreacher murmured, still clearly to himself.

“Where’s the pantry?” Jack asked, direct questions would hopefully at least make this go smoother.

Kreacher turned away from her and began walking again, the sack clinking, a silver spoon fell from the partially open mouth and Jack reached for it.

“DO NOT TOUCH-“ Kreacher barked bending to retrieve the spoon, “Blood traitors, Mudbloods, filth! They won’t take Kreacher’s mistress’s fine things, no they won’t, as if Kreacher would tell the brat that the pantry is in the cellar on the right…”

Kreacher, calmer now that the spoon was safely back in the bag and out of Jack’s reach, resumed his walk from the kitchen, much faster than Jack would have expected the old elf could go. 

“Thanks,” Jack said to no one as the elf exited the kitchen.

The cellar it was then. Jack turned and tried the doorknob she’d been about to turn before Kreacher’s strange appearance. The door opened on a short set of wooden stairs, leading down into a stone cellar. Jack licked her lips nervously for a moment before venturing down.

There were things covered in sheets down here as well, though there seemed to have been more effort put into moving them away from the main path. Jack spied several more large armoires, apparently the Blacks never got rid of anything. One large cabinet was chained shut, Jack shivered and moved on. The path wove cleanly through the dust covered furniture and bejeweled miscellany with obvious purpose and in no time at all Jack found herself in front of a large set of heavy looking double doors. There was almost no dust on the floor here and several large wicker baskets set next to it. Jack reached out to the door and pulled one side open.

A light flared in the closet and Jack let her mouth drop open in amazement. Food, tons of it, more food than Jack had ever seen in one place lined the shelves. Meat and cheese and at least two gross eggs and bread and everything she could have possibly hoped for. She took a jug of milk off of the shelf, there was a date on the glass, it was almost ten years old. She removed the top and sniffed, milk was tricky, even with non perishing charms, you had to really know your stuff to get milk to keep more than a year.

It smelled perfect. Jack had been planning on making herself some toast and maybe an egg or two. But the sight of all of that just begging to be used gave her an utterly different idea. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

An hour later, Jack had just set the first dish of fried potatoes on the table when there came the rather distinct clearing of a throat behind her. She turned to find McGonagall, already dressed, though it was only six thirty, looking at her, eyes bright with amusement from the doorway.

“Making yourself a light breakfast?” she asked surveying the oven, stove and counters, where Jack had prepared everything. The griddle currently had two pounds of bacon smoking merrily, a half dozen eggs frying and a further pound and a half of pork sausage.

“I thought I’d try to make a better impression this morning?” Jack said reaching behind her for a mug to set in front of McGonagall, “Tea’s got another minute to steep but-“

“Jack,” McGonagall began, sitting at the table and taking the mug, “You know you don’t have to-“

“I just thought if I’m going to be here I could be useful, like I am at the cottage, that’s all,” Jack said reaching for the coffee she’d set down on the counter, it was cold, she’d gotten too involved in the chopping and slicing and frying to drink it, but she was wide awake now anyway.

“I’m sure it will be appreciated,” McGonagall said, eyes widening as Jack set down two plates piled high with buttered toast. 

“I met the house elf,” Jack offered with a weak smile, turning back to the food on the stove.

“Did you?” McGonagall asked standing to move towards the window. The movement caught Jack’s eye, residual alarm rising until she saw the owl with the newspaper clutched in its talons.

“Yeah, creepy little guy,” Jack said turning to flip a sausage, “Kept muttering to himself.”

“Be careful what you say to Kreacher,” McGonagall said, closing the window and returning to the table with the paper. “He’s not exactly on our side. If it weren’t dangerous to free him, I think Sirius probably would have done it by now.”

“Dangerous?” Jack asked, plating some of the bacon, she wasn’t sure whether this was a chewy or crispy crowd, best to have a bit of both. The little elf hadn’t seemed dangerous, maybe tragically twisted, but dangerous?

“He’s very loyal to his former masters, and Sirius isn’t the only Black left,” McGonagall said sitting back in the small chair and flapping the paper open before her. Jack glanced up as she set the bacon on the table, there was the man in the bowler hat again, this time shouting into a microphone. His picture was next to one of Dumbledore, looking at the camera in innocent nonchalance.

“Did Sirius?” Jack asked, her mouth a little dry, dry enough that she couldn’t finish the question.

McGonagall looked up from the paper, Jack tilted her head guiltily towards the hall. 

McGonagall blinked, “No,” she said after a moment, finally understanding, “I believe that was his late mother, and several generations before that.”

“That’s a relief,” Jack said, the breath she’d been holding fluttered out of her chest as she turned back to the stove. “I was worried after last night that I might be bound for a plaque.”

“You know he used to be quite charming,” McGonagall said, laying the paper flat on the table, “and quite bright. I can’t imagine Azkaban is an easy place to be for someone like him.”

Jack turned back to the table, a bowl of pancake batter in her arm, the spoon moving already. She didn’t care what had or had not been hard for Sirius Black, judging from McGonagall’s disapproving look, it showed on her face. Jack didn’t care, she’d walked into the kitchen last night and he’d been waiting, waiting to expose her and make sure the Weasleys didn’t trust her.

“That doesn’t give him the right-“ she started, McGonagall raised a hand.

“This is his house. I was wrong to be as short with him as I was last night. and it would be wrong now to let you have a go at him without him here.”

Jack seethed, she knew McGonagall was asking her to be fair, but why was it that the only one who ever seemed to need to be fair was her? She had to understand about Hooch snapping at her, she had to understand about people not telling her things, she had to understand that Sadie had just been nervous about telling her that her parents were looking for her, she had to understand-

“If you mix that anymore it’s going to evaporate,” McGonagall said, eyes flicking to the bowl.

Jack’s hand hurt, she’d been whipping it around the bowl without even a thought. 

“I have to concentrate,” Jack said turning back to the counter and reaching for a fork to turn the sausages, they were beginning to smoke.

If McGonagall had more to say she kept it to herself. Jack continued cooking, only intermittently jumping when McGonagall flipped a page of the paper. She did have to concentrate, there was a lot to do and she had no idea how much time she had. She was on the first batch of French toast when she heard a loud bang on her left-hand side, both she and McGonagall’s heads snapped up in surprise.

“Oh, good morning Molly,” McGonagall said, propping the paper back up without giving Mrs. Weasley another glance. 

Molly Weasley was standing in the doorway, hand on the counter, a cast iron skillet on the floor where she’d dropped it, hand over her heart.

“Good morning Mrs. Weasley,” Jack said flushing and turning to the sideboard to reach for a mug, “there’s tea on the table.”

“I can see that,” Molly stammered glancing at the plates and bowls already lined up down the center of the table. Jack had finished the bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, sunny side up eggs, eggs over easy, toast, pancakes, hash and fried potatoes. Currently all that was left to do was the French toast, oatmeal, biscuits, eggs over hard, hard boiled eggs and the three smaller steaks she’d found.

“I hope you don’t mind me raiding the pantry, I don’t think I even made a dent,” Jack said meekly, handing her the cup. 

Mrs. Weasley stared at her, eyes wide in shock.

“What exactly…?” she began, reaching for the mug and looking confused at the spread.

“It’s a new fashion from the colonies Molly, I’m told they call it breakfast,” McGonagall said lowering the paper just enough to show Jack her eyes, sparkling with amusement.

Mrs. Weasley fixed the back of McGonagall’s head with a stern look, then turned to Jack.

“Dear you didn’t have to-“ she began surveying the food again and looking a little faint.

“I couldn’t sleep, cooking helps me relax,” Jack offered, her face flushing. Hostility she could handle, pity felt a good deal less comfortable, and Molly’s eyes looked dangerously close to welling.

“Well at least let me he-“ Molly began, setting the mug on the table and reaching for an apron on a hook by the door.

“I’ve got it under control, really. Thank you but why don’t you just have a seat and start eating,” Jack said, gently laying a hand on Molly’s arm and steering her towards the table, “Do your kids like cinnamon on French toast or plain?”

Molly was so shocked by the question that she allowed herself to be pushed into a chair with very little resistance, her mouth working like it meant to speak.

“I believe I have seen the twins go for the cinnamon toast in the dining hall,” McGonagall offered, setting the paper on the table and reaching for the tea pot, Molly’s mug in her other hand.

“Right,” Jack said with a nod as she turned back to the stove. It had taken two trips with the wicker basket to get all the spices she wanted from the cellar, but it had been worth it.

“I-I, wait,” Molly said, blinking, looking at the steaming mug in her hand, “You mean I just, I just eat?” she asked.

McGonagall and Jack looked to each other, then to Molly and nodded their heads slowly in response.

“May I have a plate?” Molly asked looking at the food again and holding out her hand. Jack obliged her with a grin.

Molly took a little of everything, studying it for a moment, as if she were grading it. Jack had to fight to watch the food she was still cooking and not the older woman’s face as she began to eat.

“This is good,” Molly said, swallowing a mouthful of potato, “What’s in it?”

“I used spices other than salt and sugar,” Jack said flatly, pausing just long enough to offer Molly a bowl of jam to go with the toast.

“Blasphemy,” McGonagall muttered, she’d gone back to the paper.

Jack was just about to launch into a less than gentle tirade about British cuisine when there were loud thumps on the stairs, followed by a deep sigh and a groan. Molly looked up just long enough from the fried potatoes to wish her husband a good morning as he entered the kitchen, turned around the counter and moved to hug Jack before realizing it was not his wife standing at the stove. 

“Excuse me,” he said sounding flustered, his ears going pink at the tips. Jack nodded and pulled a mug down for him from the cabinet.

“Is it mother’s day again?” he asked the table. Molly took a snapping bite of bacon.

“No dear, that was in March,” she said, patting the seat beside her.

“Well then,” he said looking back to Jack and taking the offered cup before moving towards the table, “Jack isn’t it?” 

“Uh, yeah. Good morning,” Jack offered, turning back to the stove, the French toast was just about done.

“I’m Arthur,” he said holding out a hand to Jack’s back, Jack put the plate down and shook it with another nod. 

“Nice to meet you,” she said, stepping back a bit as she laid the first steak down, it sizzled and smoked spectacularly.

“You’re American?” he asked from behind her.

“All my life,” Jack flipped the steak, the griddle was too hot for it to sit long, she hoped they liked their meat rare.

“Minerva mentioned your roommates were muggleborn?” he asked. Jack paused, feeling more defensive than she probably should have.

“Well Sadie’s a halfblood, but yes,” she replied, giving the wizard a sharp look over her shoulder.

“Do you think you could explain-“ he began, his voice lifting in earnest hope.

“Not now Arthur dear,” Molly interjected. Jack grinned a little as she turned back to the table with a stack of plates and cutlery.

“But American muggles have-“ he tried to plead with his wife.

“What did you want to know?” she asked Mr. Weasley as she passed him the stack.

It was almost seven thirty by the time the first of the Weasley children came stumbling into the kitchen, Ginny upon seeing the food on the table had wished Jack a bleary good morning and fallen to, as her father began the second half of his two-part question regarding the cultural significance of the lawn flamingo. Jack hadn’t had an answer to the first part, she didn’t think it likely she would have one to the second part, but Mr. Weasley’s enthusiasm was infectious and not a little endearing. She’d asked many of the same questions to Sadie and Keysha her first year in Brooklyn, at least she wouldn’t laugh at him the way they had at her.

Jack had finished cooking and had moved on to squeezing juice, any excuse not to actually sit at the table. The work gave the conversation a comfortable buffer of distance and she wasn’t ready to give up on it yet, though there was a part of her that wondered if she shouldn’t hold off on the whipped cream until Sirius came down, then she could be absorbed in what she was doing for the initial unpleasantries.

Fred, George and Ron came into the kitchen in a slow whorl of good mornings and grasping hands as Jack handed mugs out in between juicing oranges. If the boys were as surprised by her domestic whirlwind, they didn’t acknowledge it as they sat and began spooning large helpings of everything onto plates.

“I don’t suppose anyone thought to check these for poison?”

Jack turned from the stove to see Sirius gesturing broadly to the table, she hadn’t even heard him come in. There was a small disapproving hiss from the table, Jack couldn’t tell if it had come from McGonagall or Mrs. Weasley. There was a distinct chill in the room all of a sudden. 

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, and I only had enough for one plate,” Jack said tersely, turning to set the steaks on the table.

McGonagall lowered a corner of her paper, eyes sharp with meaning as she stared at Jack.

_Not this time Professor._

Jack was going to give him as good as she got.

The Weasleys’, distracted from the food by the promise of a fight, slowed their eating if only marginally. Ron’s fork was stalled halfway between the table and his mostly full mouth. It didn’t appear Jack could expect any help from him this time.

Sirius let out a dry wheeze of a laugh as he moved to sit in his accustomed seat.

“It’ll take more than that to be rid of me I’m afraid,” he said as he lowered himself into the chair.

“I’m resourceful,” Jack said, turning back to the counter, pleased with herself. The angry flap of newsprint behind her signaling McGonagall was less so.

“That’s quite enough,” Mrs. Weasley said, quietly, calmly.

“Molly don’t chide her for being honest, what if she were to confess?” 

He was laughing at her, the mirth in his tone easy and obvious. Jack wanted to hit him, what Jack really wanted to do was draw her wand and shout the nastiest hex she knew, but hitting him would do.

“I was talking to you,” Mrs. Weasley snapped, her voice a little shrill now.

“Confess what?” Jack barked, spinning, one hand on her wand, the other wrapped around a kitchen knife.

“That you’ve known exactly what your disgusting parents were your entire life and-“ Sirius snarled it, his face white with anger.

“And THAT is quite enough,” McGonagall barked, slapping the paper to the table with such vicious force that Jack, mid-step towards the head of the table, froze in her tracks. The Weasleys, adults included, looked to McGonagall, then Jack, then Sirius in rapid succession. 

“What the hell is your problem anyway?” Jack asked, daring a glance at McGonagall and trying to keep her voice calm. 

Sirius Black glared at her, his eyes were quite unlike the rest of him, the body that looked as if it were still not quite free of the dust and grime of Azkaban. His eyes were crystal clear, sharp, focused and full of hate or maybe at best disgust. Jack’s chest started to tighten and she swallowed hard, trying to choke down the urge to apologize or break eye contact.

_Not this time, not this time, not this time…_

“I think it best I answer that.”

The voice came from behind her, just as Jack felt a thin hand on her shoulder. Sirius, snapped his mouth shut, still looking like he wanted to spit at her.

She had to fight the urge to flinch away from the hand when she realized it belonged to Dumbledore. He seemed to notice anyway, releasing her before turning towards the table.

“This looks wonderful,” he said. He surveyed the table, plucked a clean plate from the counter and speared one of the steaks off the plate with a fork.

“Thank you,” he said pleasantly, prizing the knife from Jack’s hand before she had the sense to let go of it.

“Well?” Sirius asked, the first bold enough to speak after Dumbledore’s interruption.

“Well?” Dumbledore asked innocently, carving off a small piece of steak and popping it into his mouth, “medium rare actually I think, though I admit I’ve always been a bit fuzzled on the difference between medium rare and medium.”

“Warm pink versus red center,” Jack said, wanting to say something but being at a loss as to what else it could be.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said with a smile and an approving point at Jack.

“It’s lovely to see you Albus,” McGonagall said, looking so relieved Jack thought she might actually hug the headmaster.

“As always, but you were saying that you knew what my problem was?” Sirius asked, his face twisted in a mask of amusement. His eyes hadn’t changed, Jack didn’t think he was fooling anyone.

“After breakfast Sirius, I wouldn’t want to put you off this excellent food. Besides I think the children will want some time to catch up,” Dumbledore said giving the Weasleys a knowing look over his next bite of steak.

“Catch up with what?” Ron asked, spoonful of oatmeal hovering just under his chin.

“Oh my stars I forgot!” 

Mrs. Weasley had leapt out of her chair, sending her tea mug spinning. Mr. Weasley reached out a hand to steady it. His wife ran to the kitchen door, peering her head into the hallway and twisting it every which way.

“She’s upstairs Molly, I took the liberty of directing her there, things sounded a little…” Dumbledore said, eyes flicking to Jack, then to Sirius, “…fraught.”

“Albus?” McGonagall asked, eyes darting nervously to the hallway, where Mrs. Weasley was flying up the stairs. 

“Someone here?” Ron asked, shifting uncomfortably.

“Are you seriously that thick?” both twins asked in unison, it was a little unnerving.

“Honestly Ron,” Ginny echoed.

Jack, who was feeling distinctly left out of this vague conversation was about ask what was going on when there was a loud crash above their heads.

“What on earth?” McGonagall asked, eyes darting to the ceiling as she made to stand.

“JACK!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice sounded from up the stairs, not angry necessarily but certainly urgent.

Jack was out of the kitchen and up the stairs before it truly registered that Sirius was laughing at her as she went. The source of the noise was obvious, the open door to the room she’d shared with Ginny the night before doubly so.

“Do I need to tell you?” Mrs. Weasley asked gesturing skyward with an outstretched arm.

Macha was perched on top of an ancient dresser, fluffing her wings and quorking loudly. Jack immediately knew why. The large, bow-legged ginger cat on the floor, front paws pressed to the front of the dresser gave her a sidelong look as she entered the room then returned his gaze to the crow, who had a large tuft of ginger hair clutched in her talons.

“Nice kitty,” Jack said softly, stooping to hold her hand out to the cat, distract him at least. Jack had never cared for cats. Of course when almost everyone in your family had a bird that was par for the course.

This cat looked back at Jack’s face, then at her outstretched hand and let out a low growl of warning. He clearly was not interested in the stranger touching him.

“Crookshanks!” 

Jack almost fell flat on her face as a blur of brown hair smashed into her shoulder and scooped the cat from the ground, ignoring the loud mewling protest. When she’d regained her equilibrium she turned to face the newcomer, a girl, a little younger than her with unruly looking brown hair and bright brown eyes to match.

“That’s very rude,” she was saying to the cat, who was purring now but still staring avidly at Macha.

“Opened the window when you came in?” Jack asked, looking, not a little annoyed at the cat.

“It was a bit stuffy, I guess that bird flew in after, I’ll fetch a broom,” the girl said nodding.

Jack was about to reply emphatically that she would absolutely not be shooing Macha out the window with a broom when the girl turned, seemingly just seeing her.

“I’m Hermione Granger by the way,” she said, freeing a hand from the cat’s voluminous fur to extend it towards Jack to shake.

“Pleasure?” Jack said, dutifully shaking. 

“Hermione dear, the bird is Jack’s pet, do you think Crookshanks could perhaps stay in another room? Just for a few days of course,” Mrs. Weasley interrupted, glancing worriedly at Macha who was clicking her beak angrily at Crookshanks, and Hermione by association.

“Uh, I’ll see if Sirius wants to keep him for a day or two, he always quite liked him,” Hermione said giving Jack a weak smile, “Sorry if he frightened him.”

“I think Macha got the better of him,” Jack said reaching up to try to tempt the crow from her perch, plucking the tuftball of fur from her feet.

“Are you sure it’s female? I read somewhere corvids are very hard to sex,” Hermione asked. 

Jack blinked, Macha extended her wings and quorked loudly, clearly offended.

“What an excellent conversation to have over breakfast, now if you would take Crookshanks down the hall I think that would be best,” Mrs. Weasley said, her friendly smile looking rather fixed as Hermione blushed and nodded before striding down the hall. The ginger terror in her arms mewled petulantly with every footfall.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Weasley I didn’t-“ Jack began but Molly held up a hand to stop her.

“It’s quite alright dear, let’s go back downstairs, I’m sure Hermione will need a moment to settle her things.”

“I think I should probably stay here a minute,” Jack said as Macha finally hopped down to her shoulder and began preening her feathers next to her ear, “make sure she’s alright.”

Mrs. Weasley reached out to pat Jack’s arm before leaving the room. Jack moved towards the bed, it was easier to handle Macha’s weight sitting. She was still sitting there, feeding Macha pieces of kibble to defray the bird’s anxious preening, when Hermione strode back into the room.

“I am sorry about that, Crookshanks,” the girl paused in the doorway, looking at Macha warily, “he has a very strong predatory drive.”

“I noticed that,” Jack said flatly, still not willing to immediately forgive the attempt on Macha’s life.

“I didn’t catch your name before,” Hermione said pleasantly moving to the middle of the room where her trunk and two bags were piled. She took a moment to survey the two empty beds, then hauled the trunk to the foot of the one next to Ginny’s.

“Jack,” Macha fluffed her wings out and clicked her beak.

“Right, you’re American aren’t you, the accent?” Hermione asked with a slight shrug of her shoulders as she propped the trunk’s lid open and began removing clothes and personal items. Jack flushed a little, this was awkward, a little more than awkward.

“I think I might just take her downstairs, let you get settled,” she said standing to leave, Macha letting out a pointed ‘kah’ to punctuate their exit.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Hermione said, raising her hands in apology. 

Jack stopped walking, Macha pecked at her ear. 

“Yeah, I’m American, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that…” Jack paused looking at the trunk, “I just thought you might like a little privacy and Macha doesn’t usually behave particularly well around new people.”

Hermione gave a weak grin at the bird.

“I’ve read they’re very picky, not like owls, I’ve never met anyone who owned one before,” she said.

“Yeah, they’re a bit more common in the states,” Jack lied, it didn’t seem that Hermione had been told anything about her, no reason to broach that quite so soon, or alone for that matter.

“You know I’ve read a bit about the American schools, which one did you-?” Hermione began.

“None of them, I had tutors,” Jack said quickly, the interrogation could wait too.

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking just the slightest bit at a loss for words, “I hate to ask this, I’m sure it’s personal but-“

“Why am I here?” Jack asked for her, mind racing for a way to answer that was neither especially informative or outright rude.

“I was going to ask what year you would be in actually,” Hermione finished, her face slightly less abashed now, clearly Jack had not succeeded in trying to keep the conversation polite.

“Oh, uh, well none, I took my equivalency test last year and I-“ Jack began, trying to keep her voice calmer.

“You’re finished?” Hermione asked, eyes widening in surprise and obvious curiosity, “What do you do?”

Jack grinned a little, at least this topic was safe, “I’m a professional quidditch player.”

Jack had not been expecting the other girl’s brows to dart up like that, it wasn’t delight, or interest the way she was used to, it looked a great deal more like consternation, or just outright shock.

“You took your equivalency and passed at what, fifteen? To play quidditch?” the girl asked, the disbelief clear in her voice. 

Jack felt her spine straighten, she’d never, not even from her class obsessed parents, had anyone question that decision.

“Yeah, I did,” she said flatly, moving to leave again.

“I’m sorry! It’s just, I mean don’t you think-“ the girl began, hands raised to keep Jack from leaving.

“A lot more than I’m sure you would expect,” Jack said curtly, stepping through the door and moving towards the stairs. Hermione didn’t follow her. 

She hadn’t made it to the landing before she stopped, she hated this place, she hated this house, she especially hated that she had just been bitchy for no reason to a girl she didn’t know, and her only option to remove herself from the situation was to endure more taunts from Sirius Black and fidget in Albus Dumbledore’s all knowing and still terrifying presence.

She didn’t want to go back downstairs, she certainly didn’t want to go back in the bedroom, the steady sounds of things landing on one of the ancient mattresses certainly seemed to indicate that Hermione had no intention of seeking her out. She couldn’t go outside, but no one had said anything about the other rooms, and merlin knew there were enough of them that they couldn’t all be occupied.

Jack all but snuck past the open door, Hermione was bent over her trunk, inspecting something and muttering to herself. Jack didn’t listen that closely, she was sure it probably had something to do with the incredibly rude American she’d just met. She knew which of the doors belonged to the Weasley boys, and which one to the their parents, the first door she opened turned out to be McGonagall’s, obvious from the sheer amount of tartan and it’s pristine cleanliness despite the rest of the house.

The next door was a closet, large enough certainly for Jack to have fit in had it not been stacked floor to ceiling with luggage, even if she’d been tempted to move some of them into the hall, the thin tendril of white smoke slithering from the hinges of the first one was more than enough to dissuade her. She shut it gently, one hand holding Macha in place lest she decided to see how well the stack was constructed.

Jack moved upstairs, the third floor that they had passed on their way down from the attic, it would be better this way anyway. It would be less likely, if someone did come looking, that they would find her.

Jack opened the next door a little more cautiously, and it was a good thing she had. The door had barely cracked wider than an inch before she was met with an odd, curious sounding trill sound. On closer inspection it appeared McGonagall had not at all been joking about the Hippogriff. Jack clapped a hand around Macha’s beak and closed the door softly as the beast continued to snore.

Jack looked down the hallway, there weren’t many options left. She tried the next door, this one had a neatly hand printed sign on it that she didn’t bother to read, it was locked. Jack gritted her teeth. If she could use magic, this wouldn’t have been a problem, she gave the door a vicious little kick as she moved on. 

The next door had Sirius’s name on it. That was a hard pass, though she had to wonder what the protocol was in his situation, did you take over your old space or commandeer a better one? After a moment’s thought she concluded that in this house there was the distinct possibility that a ‘better one’ did not exist.

The next two doors were locked and Jack was beginning to consider just heading back downstairs, she’d surely wasted the short window of time she’d had where no one would be asking after her. There was one more door on the hall, at the very end. 

_Screw it_

Jack reached for the knob and breathed a long sigh of relief when the latch clicked open. She brushed the dust from her palm off onto her jeans and pushed the door inward. It was a much larger bedroom, clearly the master suite with its large, elegant furniture and deep, rich looking linens. The dust here was thick and undisturbed. Macha fluttered from her shoulder onto the bed and began disturbing it at once out of principle.

Jack eased the door closed behind her, it was unnaturally still in here save for the pictures in the frames but even these were sedate. An older man, a woman and one boy stood stoically in most of them. Some of them had small burn marks, just to the left of the teenaged boy. Jack didn’t wonder who the people in the photos were, the resemblance, dulled by Azkaban was still that strong.

Jack watched Macha hop around the bedspread, tucking her wings and rolling in the dust, Jack sighed.

“You know this was supposed to be for your benefit.”

Macha cawed happily and continued to make herself as filthy as she could manage. 

Jack sighed again and moved towards the only piece of furniture that looked inviting. The desk was large, ornate, and clearly not used for much besides show, the blotter, even under its thick layer of age and want of cleaning was spotless, not so much as a stray drop of ink. She doubted that she would find anything interesting in it, but lack of foresight left her without anything to do but snoop. Jack ran a hand through her hair nervously at the thought, she really should just sit for a minute, it would be rude to look at anything.

_Smug bastard certainly knows a lot about me though doesn’t he?_

Jack set her jaw and reached for the top drawer of the desk, Macha cawing happily behind her. There wasn’t much of interest, it was almost disappointing to see all the practically new quills and parchment and ink sitting untouched, not a single thing was out of place. Jack shut the drawer, a bit harder than she’d meant to as dust puffed out in a cloud that coated her face and made her cough.

The second drawer was envelopes and wax sealers, again depressingly mundane. She closed the drawer more slowly this time. 

The third drawer was full of letters, Jack reached for the first stack, finally something worth getting screamed at for if she was caught.

Jack felt a slight pang of guilt as she lifted the first bundle up. If she was caught, she couldn’t argue that she’d been doing nothing wrong after all. These were clearly private, but there was something too enticing about the idea of throwing Sirius’s parents in his face to stop her now.

There was a neat tag on the front that listed the year as 1961. Jack smiled slightly, the letters were as older than she was. Upon further inspection in the drawer, the letters went back to 1966 but stopped abruptly at 1981.

She didn’t recognize most of the names but some were familiar. She’d heard her mother mention the Rosiers, the Malfoys, the Notts. All of them were addressed to ‘Walburga’ – Jack supposed that must have been Sirius’s mother. They were all surprisingly normal: weather, children, husbands hardly a mention of genocidal dark wizards or murder or torture, though there was a great deal of pureblood whining that Jack had certainly heard before.

The second bundle of letters was no more interesting, or the third, or the fourth. Jack finally grew impatient and flipped through them until she came to 1971. The start of the first war ought to liven things up a bit.

She flipped through the letters, more weather, more children, more husbands. She was about to drop the bundle in frustration when her eyes lighted on a crumbling bit of wax seal, black wax, a crow with its wings spread, a wand clamped in its beak.

Jack’s eyes went wide. She’d seen the seal before, it was on every letter her grandmother had sent. it was dated the second of September 1971. She placed the rest of the faded parchment on the desk and began to read.

_Dear Walburga,_

_I received an owl from Tabby this morning-_

Jack’s mouth went a little dry, one line in and there she was already, she’d been trying to dig up dirt on the Blacks not her own family. 

_\- normal first year jitters mostly. I told her she’d get used to the dungeons, Junior certainly managed it, but of course that’s not why I’m writing you dear. I heard about Sirius, and I just can’t begin to imagine what it must be like for you. I asked Walden, and he tells me there hasn’t been a Macnair in Gryffindor for over eight centuries and he’s fair well convinced that there hasn’t been a Black yet, well until now of course. I just wanted to let you know, dear, that if you ever wanted a sympathetic ear I am of course here for you, I can’t begin to express my indignation at what’s already being whispered behind your back. Mimeria Nott-_

The entire letter was one paragraph over two sheets of paper that carried on in much the same way. Grandma Hecuba clearly had a nose for gossip, and a talent for passive aggression that would have made Keysha jealous. She of course still signed it ‘Your loving cousin’ but Jack didn’t think that was likely fitting.

Jack gently folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. There had only been the one mention of her mother in the entire thing, and the rest of it was sniping about Sirius. She wondered, absently, if he’d ever read it, but decided that he mustn’t have or it would have been framed and prominently displayed. 

There were six more letters, all from various old pureblood families that followed in much the same vein as her grandmothers had. They talked to Walburga as if Sirius had died, or perhaps been sent to prison or was terminally ill. Jack actually found two of them to be quite funny; the one from Cygnus Black was especially so due to its enthusiastic use of the word ‘charlatan’ in every sentence.

Jack set the letters down, nothing new, nothing she hadn’t already known. 1972 through 1975 carried on much the same way. 1976 was double the thickness of the stacks before it, mostly due to Sirius’s leaving home and the pureblood community’s collective outrage and mock sympathy.

Jack flipped through the envelopes for 1977 with barely a second glance at their contents, more weather, children, husbands, with the addition of more than a few scathing treatises on Dumbledore. Jack frowned a little at the last. It would seem she had in fact been grossly misinformed.

_Surprise, surprise_

Then, at August there was a smaller envelope, a card sized one, Jack opened it, curious, hoping perhaps that one of these miscreants had died and warranted a sympathy card. She nearly dropped the rest.

_Dear Cousin Walburga,_

Jack stared at the paper in her hands, the looping elegant letters. It was her mother’s handwriting, absolutely no doubt. Jack’s hands began to shake slightly as she pulled the card free of the envelope and continued to read.

_I wanted to write and thank you for giving me a place to stay this summer. Mother was so pleased that Regulus took the time to show me London, and I had such a lovely time._

_I thought you might like to know that Mr. McCubbin and I have exchanged two letters since I left and mother agrees with you, it would make an excellent match._

Jack stared at the card. Her parents had never been specific, about how they’d met. She hadn’t known, certainly, that her mother had been sixteen at the time. She’d always assumed they’d just been very quick about things.

_I’m sure I must sound very sixteen, but I hope you won’t begrudge me the excitement. I hope you are well and please tell Reg to find me on the train this year, he’s far too intelligent to sit with sixth years._

_~ Tabitha_

Jack reread the note twice. It sounded nothing like her mother; it sounded almost, pleasant. The snobbery seemed in character but the rest was almost tritely teenaged. She was going to be born just under two and a half years later, and it seemed impossible that her mother could have been this happy – though Jack supposed her mother’s current character could be attributed to Jack’s existence. She flipped through the rest of 1977, no more from her mother. She hastily tied them again and shoved them into the drawer, reaching for the next stack.

1978 held nothing of interest, well not nothing of interest to ANYONE, but Jack had given up the pretense that she was looking for anything other than her mother’s handwriting anymore, or even maybe her father’s. She lifted 1979 and 1980 out of the drawer, 1979 was massive, 1980 woefully thin, only ten or so envelopes. She supposed many of Walburga’s friends and relations were terribly busy murdering muggles and toppling the ministry.

There was a brief ‘kah’ from the bed, but Jack didn’t turn around as she undid the binding on the year of her birth and began flipping urgently through it. There were lots of condolence cards, not in date order, most were from July but a few were from far later, October maybe, the envelopes looked well worn, thumbed through quite a bit. Jack considered stopping to look at these but decided she didn’t actually give a damn which Black or Blacks had died they’d done the world a service. 

Finally past the funerals, she snatched out an envelope, her mother’s handwriting. February, their wedding anniversary was in February, it was probably just more niceties, Jack stuffed the envelope into the pocket of her jeans and kept flipping. Two more letters, July and August, she took them both. September, October, November, all of them in loopy taunting script. Jack pushed them all into her pocket.

Nothing on her birthday, but that wasn’t surprising, she doubted her mother and Walburga were THAT close.

She tied the slightly smaller bundle of letters up again and dropped it, a bit unceremoniously in the drawer again. It landed with a dull thud, Macha cawed again, slightly louder.

“Shut up bird!” Jack hissed, not bothering to glance back at the crow as she examined the knot on 1980.

Macha cawed again, then again, then again. Jack couldn’t concentrate, the ribbon was so tightly wound she couldn’t pry it apart. She shoved the thin bundle in her pocket, she was going to pluck every feather Macha had and make a stationary set.

“Macha, for fuck’s sake!” Jack spat. She spun towards the bed, mouth open to tell the bird off. 

She screamed instead.

Tabitha McCubbin was standing next to the bed, a vicious smile on her face.

Jack scrambled backward, slamming the small of her back into the edge of the desk and cursing as she reached to her pocket, there was no wand there, she hadn’t bothered pocketing it this morning. 

Resisting temptation was going to cost her at least her freedom, if not her life.

Jack’s vision was starting to blur at the edges, whether from the pain shooting down her spine or the adrenaline rushing through her she couldn’t be sure. She grabbed for the closest thing to hand, eyes on her mother. She hadn’t moved, she was just standing there, staring at her, eyes bright with malice.

Jack flung something large, heavy and blunt across the room, maybe it would give her time to lunge for the door. Her mother merely sidestepped the flying paperweight, watching it go past on its way to smash into the open armoire door. She turned back to Jack and took a step forward, hand rising.

“No,” Jack breathed her hand feeling on the desk for something else to throw. Macha was cawing loudly on the bed.

“No,” Jack breathed again, her chest was like a vice, the tears threatening to pour from her, the room was swirling, tipping on its edge.

Her mother was still moving closer, Jack couldn’t find anything to throw. She was inches from her now, her face still fixed with a smile.

Macha launched herself off the bed cawing madly and flapping her wings as Jack fell to the floor, sobbing and covering her head with her arms.

There was an odd low hissing sound above her, the door burst open, rattling the hinges and banging into the ancient plaster.

“Jack!” 

Jack looked up to see Hermione Granger, diving across the wooden floor towards her. Behind her, Sirius Black had entered the room, wand drawn, face hard with determination.

Jack didn’t entirely register it was happening as Hermione grabbed her by the front of her tee shirt and hauled her towards the door, sneakers kicking and squeaking on the ancient boards. Tabitha turned towards Sirius and-

Jack blinked, once, twice as her mother made a short ‘pop’ sound and suddenly looked very different. A young man with dark, unruly hair and glasses took two staggering steps towards the doorway, green light bursting from his slack, pleading mouth.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jack breathed with relief as Macha swooped at the boggart’s face, talons extended, screeching and cawing in a fury.

“Sirius banish it!” Hermione shouted, her hand still twisted in Jack’s shirt.

Sirius stood stock still, his wand outstretched, the sides of his mouth twitching, eyes darting madly between the boggart and the hall. 

The boggart was covering it’s eyes, backing up towards the desk, blind and angry as Macha swooped in again and again, pecking and clawing at it viciously. It hit the edge of the desk, screeched in pain or confusion and popped into a large brown cat, hissing and spitting as it backed over the blotter. 

Jack leapt forward and grabbed the retracting cabinet door atop the desk jerking it downward until the boggart, still rattling inside stilled enough for her to close the latch.

Hermione grabbed for a ring of keys hanging on the wall next to the desk, Jack was leaning on the flimsy wood of the cabinet as hard as she could. The boggart had seemingly realized what was happening and was now banging loudly against the door. Hermione fumbled with the keys.

“Come on!” Jack shouted.

“I’m trying! There’s so many!” Hermione shouted back as the keys jangled and clanged against each other. It took another moment but finally Hermione slid a small copper colored key into the lock and twisted it savagely. The click it produced sent a wave of dizzy relief running down Jack’s spine as she stood back from the desk, clutching her chest and trying to slow her breathing.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked turning from the desk, her eyes were wide, her bushy hair distinctly mussed.

“Yeah, I think so, you?” Jack asked back. Hermione nodded.

“Good bird,” Jack said holding a hand out to Macha who fluttered to her wrist and settled there, clicking her beak and sending Jack’s arm dipping a full inch.

“Sirius?” Hermione asked, looking at the older man with concern on her face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, are you alright?” he asked, shaking his head like a dog just out of the bath.

“Yes we’re fine, you can put your wand down,” Hermione said softly. He did as she said, turning towards Jack his face stayed surprisingly soft.  
“Who was that woman?” he asked.

“My mother,” she said, still too much in shock to be anything but direct.

“Right, I thought she looked familiar,” he said, his chest was rising and falling quickly, his eyes still darting all over the room.

“Who was that man?” Jack asked, feeling it a fair question considering.

“I-“ Sirius began, his face looking more sunken and gaunt than normal.

“It was Harry’s father wasn’t it?” Hermione asked quietly.

Sirius nodded, leaning against the doorjamb and holding one thin, paper-white hand to his chest.

“We’re lucky it didn’t pay any attention to me. I don’t know if I could have handled Professor McGonagall in the moment,” Hermione said with a short laugh.

“You haven’t been downstairs yet have you?” Jack asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“Right, well consider this a thank you; she’s in the kitchen,” Jack said with a weak grin.

Hermione’s eyes widened, “Really? Oh, well I have some homework questions anyway. Besides I’m not afraid of her, it’s just-“ Hermione began. She paused a moment, looking from Jack to Sirius, both of them were still trembling slightly.

“I think I’ll go down and say hello,” she said finally, clearly reading that this was not the time to explain why her boggart was a perfectly normal if slightly intimidating woman.

“Ok,” Jack said through a gasp of air. Macha clicked her beak at her, clearly annoyed.

Hermione gave Jack’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she went past, and patted Sirius’s arm affectionately as she moved into the hall.

“She’s kind of a trip,” Jack said with another stuttering laugh, it felt like her lungs were being extinguished, slowly.

“Hermione is… unusual,” Sirius agreed, his voice earnest, clearly he’d forgotten who he was talking to.

“So, when are you going to scream at me?” Jack asked, eyeing the doorway and the struggling wizard leaned against the wall.

“I don’t think I will, actually,” he said quietly, his temple was pulsing like he’d been doing jumping jacks.

“That’s big of you,” Jack said, moving towards the doorway.

“Jack,” he said, moving to block her path, his breath sounding slightly better.

“What?” she asked, eyeing him warily as he braced himself against the ancient wood.

“Harry Potter is my godson,” he said, nodding and choking in air, “James, his father was my best friend, and a good deal taller than that,” he finished, pointing towards the middle of the room, where the boggart had been, “Do you understand why I’ve been distrustful of you?” 

Jack looked towards the empty space the boggart had occupied only moments before, it was still rattling in the writing desk.

“Yes,” she said finally, “Surprised it didn’t have the scar.”

“I have to admit, I never pictured him that way. In Azkaba..I’d seen pictures of course but for some reason I never imagined him with the bloody ting and…” he paused, “I still forget he has it sometimes.”

Jack nodded.

“Jack I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a bastard,” he said finally, extending his hand. Jack flinched a little, at the thinness of it, but took it anyway.

“I’m sort of surprised finding me in your parent’s bedroom would change your mind,” she said with a weak smile, she shook the hand gingerly, it felt like she could break the bones if she wasn’t careful.

“I can’t say I’m pleased about that part, but it would seem you are certainly not enamored of your parents,” he said, nodding her into the hallway, “which is enough for me.”

Jack slowed to allow him to catch up as they passed by the door that hid the Hippogriff.

“It was very brave of you, to leave them like that,” she said as Macha clawed her way onto her shoulder.

“No it wasn’t, it was the easiest decision I ever made,” he said with a barking laugh.

“I think I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t moved to Brooklyn last year,” Jack said. It was true, she had sort of run away, granted, she’d done it with her parents running behind her pushing her along. But she had in fact left, and life had been a great deal better after that.

“Shit,” Jack said suddenly, pausing just before the landing.

“What is it?” he asked, eyes following hers back down the hallway.  
“We should probably go back and actually banish it,” she said, nodding towards the bedroom door.

Sirius cocked his head, considering.

“Nah,” he said finally, stepping onto the landing and beginning the descent.

“Huh? Why?” Jack asked, taking the landing and the first stair in one step to catch him up.

“Molly’s a lovely person but she could do with a good scare,” he said with a low chuckle, “I’ll probably find her treed by a dust bunny.”

“You know you’re still being a bit of a bastard,” Jack said, slightly offended on Molly’s behalf.

“Yes, but it’s my house,” he said as they reached the second floor, “now go lock the bird away and come downstairs. Molly’s been fighting people off the last of the bacon, she was terrified you wouldn’t get any.”

Jack did as she was told, tossing Macha a half dozen nubs of kibble as she shut the door behind her, the crow would merit a proper reward later. She might make sure Ron was elsewhere when she went looking for snacks.

Jack hit the first floor landing to find Sirius examining the topmost elf head.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Wondering how permanent the permanent sticking charm really is,” he said absently, he jerked his head towards the kitchen.

Jack walked past him, keeping her back to the wall as she hit the first floor.

“You look better than I expected you would.”

The voice came from the kitchen, Jack looked towards the noise and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. Hooch was standing behind McGonagall’s chair, traveling cloak still on, clearly she’d just arrived.

“Really?” Jack asked as she strode towards the Quidditch Mistress, “You look like hell, like someone flung you into a wall or something.”

Hooch fixed her with a withering glare, but the corners of her mouth ticked upward anyway.

“Pompous little thing now you’re back in pureblood society, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“What can I say: the Blacks are my kind of people,” Jack said, pulling out the chair next to McGonagall and reaching for a plate of food that Mrs. Weasley had piled what looked to be a foot high.

 

::Author’s Note:: Yikes, been a while I know, but I haven’t abandoned it yet. The siren of Original Fiction has been humming in my ear for months now. I will be attempting to institute a semi-regular posting schedule for this from now on but my word is only as good as my work schedule. 

Also thank you to everyone who’s left comments, it’s a lot easier to write this when I don’t feel like I’m uploading to the void.


	10. London and Little Winging

“I don’t believe it,” Jack said, burying her face in her hands as the Weasleys whooped in triumph. 

Ron was sitting across the table from her, a wide, beaming smile across his face. Jack looked down at the chessboard, his queen was still pummeling her king piece into the worn, pitted wood.

“Best out of ten then?” Fred asked holding up his right hand and waggling the fingers, “We could make things interesting; Professional Quidditch money if you’re keen.”

“I think having my ass handed to me five times in a row is more than enough for one day,” Jack said grimly, pushing the tiny, indignant figurine of Iminathi Nkosi, the South African nationals keeper, across the table to Ron. He’d already taken the best of her Team Canada set and almost half of Brazil.

“I can’t believe how many of these you have,” Ron said in wonder as he cupped the little figurine gently and slid her next to the rest of his winnings, most of whom were standing with their backs to Jack or hanging their heads in shame.

“I swapped with almost everyone at the opening ceremonies,” Jack said closing the lid of the box that held the rest of them. Her own figure, in a Team USA uniform was shaking its head like it wanted to be smashed with a hammer. Sadie had bought it for her as a gift, but Jack had never had the heart to tell her it was the single creepiest thing she’d ever been given.

“I still can’t believe you lost in the qualifying round,” Ginny said heavily, shaking her head.

“Wow Gin, I was worried my mood might improve,” Jack said with a dark look at the youngest Weasley.

Jack had woken up that morning feeling slightly sick. Despite Mrs. Weasley’s insistence that it was all the dust and grime in the house, Jack had known better. At least McGonagall had given her a comforting hug that morning at breakfast. Jack looked at the clock. It was four o’clock in New York, Sadie and Keysha were probably on their way to the Junkyard right now. Brand new season only two hours away.

Jack had wished them luck that morning. Sadie had been excited, but clearly trying to talk about anything else. Myra made a point three times of telling Jack that Delia Goggins was not even close to replacing her, it had made her feel a little better, but that didn’t change the fact that Delia would be strapping a screamer to her broom tonight and Jack would not.

Instead she’d be going over Ancient Runes with Hermione, for several hours most likely. It was already nine o clock at night, but Jack didn’t think it likely she would fall asleep until she heard from Sadie. They were opening against the Bronx Boggarts a hated crosstown rival and she wanted the Banshees to destroy them, with or without her.

“Did you have any luck with the wireless?” Ron asked.

Jack shook her head. She hadn’t been able to find a single American frequency, no hope for updates, let alone match commentary. Ron frowned a little, which was decent of him, considering that he was currently pocketing her world cup mementos.

“We could turn on the Harpies match,” Ginny said meekly, nodding towards the wireless on the counter behind them. Jack gave her a weak smile.

“Not really the same, but thanks,” Jack said as she moved to collect the chess pieces from the board. 

“I think I’m going to go upstairs for a bit before Hermione finds me. She promised to have charts,” Jack said with a knowing look at the Weasley’s Ron nodded sagely.

Jack tucked the box of figurines under her arm and strode from the kitchen, McGonagall looked up just enough to give her a pitying smile before she crossed into the hall. Hooch had visited again today, she’d shown up twice since last week. Jack had told the deputy headmistress that she could go home if she wished, after the third day of snippy answers to admittedly stupid questions. Jack had felt badly when she’d insisted that she stay.

Jack climbed the stairs two at a time, Sirius had been unsuccessful thus far in his new crusade to rid the wall of House Elves. He’d tried everything but cutting the wall out from underneath them, but only because Mr. Weasley had pointed out that several of them covered support beams.

Jack waved hello to Macha as entered the room. The crow was sitting in her usual place atop the curtain rod, glaring daggers at the closed window beneath her. Jack opened it and dropped onto the bed, pulling the journal from its place in the bedside table, along with her pencil.

_You suited up yet?_ she wrote, chewing on the bit of her lip that was threatening to tremble at the thought of the Junkyard, slowly filling with spectators three thousand miles away, and the sound their footsteps would make above the locker room.

_Myra made us get here at two._

Jack smiled, she could practically see the eyeroll.

_I’m surprised you had the journal open._ she wrote as Macha cawed and fluttered out the window into the night.

_I had a feeling I hadn’t heard the last of you today._ Sadie scrawled, smug practically shining through the black letters.

Jack adjusted the pillow at her back. Hermione had said she’d be done with her own work by ten, she had a half hour before the ball of energy and questions would come bounding into the room, books in hand.

_Myra ran drills?_ she asked.

_Four times, I think we got it._ Sadie replied.

Jack stuck the end of the pencil in her mouth, she was having trouble coming up with something to ask that she hadn’t that morning, she’d quizzed Sadie for an hour and a half about the Boggarts’ defenses and play calling. Sadie had threatened to burn her journal by the end of it.

_I really wish I was there._ Jack wrote, at a loss for anything else to say.

There was a long pause before Sadie wrote back.

_I wish you were here too, I didn’t want to say anything in front of the team before, I still haven’t told Keysha but-_ Sadie stopped writing. Jack sat up straighter, her shoulders hunched, her chest tightening. Had Sadie seen her mother again? Was she asking for a trade? Had Sadie seen her father? Was she running away to farm nifflers?

_Becca broke up with me last night._

Jack stared at the page, expecting to burst out laughing or sigh in relief, instead there was suddenly a bottomless well of rage in her chest.

_SHE BROKE UP WITH YOU THE DAY BEFORE THE OPENER?! WHAT KIND OF HEARTLESS HUSSY HAVE YOU BEEN KISSING?_

_Don’t call her that. It was my fault, I asked her to come to the match because my parents were going to be there and she totally freaked and-_

Jack wasn’t interested in how Sadie was going to twist this to make herself the villain in this little story. The match started in two hours, Myra would kill her if she played like a penitent toddler.

_Stop, just stop you didn’t do anything wrong, you never do anything wrong, except start dating these idiots in the first place-_

Sadie’s scrawling print ran over the next line of Jack’s tirade, so quickly Jack couldn’t find where her words ended and Sadie’s started.

_-your opinion on my love life. For once can you just be sympathetic instead of bashing someone I cared about?_

Jack stared at the page. Her brain wasn’t working fast enough.

_I honestly have no idea why the hell I thought it would be better to tell you than anyone else-_

Jack dropped the lead of the pencil down to the paper about half an inch from where Sadie’s words were still streaming across the page, Jack was childish, Sadie knew Jack was in a weird spot but Sadie always listened to her.

_Sadie I’m sorry._ she wrote. There was a lump in her throat that was threatening to turn itself into tears. She crossed her legs on the bed and scrunched her knees up into her chest. It had happened so fast.

_I have to go listen to Myra give her BS opening day speech, I’ll talk to you later._

Jack wrote that she was sorry again, then that she thought she was being supportive, and then that she was sorry a third time. 

The page stayed blank.

Jack snapped the journal shut and covered her face with her palms, drawing them down slowly to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Today sucked.

“Wotcher Jack.”

Jack let her hands drop to her lap at the voice. Tonks was standing in the doorway, her hand on the knob, a mischievous glint in her eye. At least Jack thought there was, they were currently obscured behind bright green fringe.

“Uh, hi? Is that what that means?” Jack asked, running a hand through her hair and straightening up. She was wearing a comfortable but well-worn tee shirt and her only pair of jeans that didn’t have holes in them. She would have given a stack of Dragots to have gotten dressed properly for dinner.

“Sort of,” Tonks said with a wink as she swept into the room and closed the door behind her. She was in muggle street clothes instead of her Auror Uniform. Jack had to admit that the tee shirt and tight jeans was a good deal more flattering than the uniform ever had been and couldn’t say she was sad for the change.

“Ok, what’s up?” Jack asked, grinning a little nervously as the Auror crossed the room to the foot of the bed.

“Ginny informs me you have a problem, and as it happens,” Tonks paused for a moment, a wicked grin spreading across her face, “I may have a solution to that problem.”

Jack cocked her head, eyebrows arching, “I kind of doubt that,” she said finally.

Tonks held a hand out to help her off the bed, “Never, ever doubt me,” she said as Jack let herself be pulled forward. “Besides I already lied to McGonagall, you really shouldn’t waste that type of thing.”

Jack stared at Tonks for what felt like a full minute before she finally shrugged her shoulders.

“So, what are we doing?” Jack asked, toeing the floorboards and trying not to look overly curious or excited.

“Officially, we’re going to my office late at night for you to look at photos of known American Death Eaters, see if you find any family friends,” Tonks said. 

Jack’s jaw dropped, they were leaving the house?

“Should I get changed?” she asked looking down at her clothes.

“Most definitely,” Tonks said with an apologetic grin as she looked up and down Jack’s front.

“Where are we going…unoficially?” Jack asked. That wicked grin again.

“You’ll see,” Tonks was at the door again, “Meet you downstairs?”

Jack nodded and the Auror was gone. 

Jack moved to her trunk, searching for something that made her look slightly older than twelve. In hindsight she probably should have asked Tonks which of her numerous problem she was attempting to fix.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Sounds to me like she just wanted to vent,” Tonks said as they rounded another corner. They’d been walking about fifteen minutes. London was lovely, at least what Jack was seeing of it. On street level it was a bit more reminiscent of New York than it had been from the sky, though everything was still far older.

It had taken all of two blocks for Tonks to pull the reason for her sour mood out of her. The first one and a half had mostly been Jack feeling guilty about lying to McGonagall, who was clearly worried when they’d left and had reminded Tonks six times to be careful and vigilant. 

Jack would have felt a lot worse she supposed if Tonks had told her where they were really going, for all she knew the cover story was true at this point.

“I mean I get that, but I don’t know, isn’t it a good thing when your friends get mad for you?” she asked. 

Tonks shrugged, “I’ve always thought so, but maybe that’s only if you’re mad yourself, sounds more like she was probably just a bit bummed out.”

Jack watched three taxis jockeying for a spot by the curb as they came to a sudden stop.  
“Hold on a tic,” Tonks said reaching an arm out to keep Jack from passing right by her. When Jack obeyed, Tonks moved to a spot in the wall of the closest building, a tiny slice of brick exterior bracketed on either side by a tobacconist and a Tesco. She pulled her wand from her pocket, giving the rest of the sidewalk nervous looks before tracing its tip in a zigzag pattern along the mortar in between a cluster of bricks.

There was a soft clicking sound, Tonks beckoned Jack over next to her and Jack huddled next to the Auror to hide the little section of wall from view as part of it swung open as if it were on a hinge.

“After you, watch your step,” Tonks whispered as she peered around them. Jack swallowed hard and stepped into the little opening. It was too dark to really see where she was going and the first step was in fact a bit of a drop. It was pitch black in here, how the hell did Tonks expect her to know where to go? 

Jack took a hesitant step forwards and walked right into a wall.

“Ow!” she hissed as she brought her hand to her nose, eyes tearing. 

“Shit, sorry bout that I probably should have warned you,” Tonks muttered as she stepped into the darkness behind Jack and swung the brick wall shut.

Lights flickered on in the tiny space as soon as the bricks were back in place. Jack opened her eyes, they were in a tiny four walled room, barely large enough for the two of them to stand in comfortably. Tonks was pressed against the far wall, palms plastered to it’s surface.

“You’re going to want to plant your feet, it’s old and- “Tonks began.

There was a sudden lurch beneath them and Jack toppled forward into Tonks’s arms as the little room began to fall, not the steady, smooth descent of an elevator but a legitimate, vertigo inducing free fall.

“Where the fu-?” Jack tried to shout as the little room slowed, and then stopped hard with a little bounce for good measure.

Jack fell backward and would have gone into the wall had Tonks not had a hold of her shirt.

“About twenty feet down,” Tonks said with a wince as she helped Jack steady herself.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Jack said, there was blood rushing in her ears, she felt like she was going to be sick. 

“That’s fair,” Tonks said, tapping her wand against the crown of Jack’s head, it was a disillusionment charm, that was the only explanation for the sudden trickling cold on the back of her neck.

“Damn, I was hoping it’d age you up a bit,” Tonks said, putting a hand underneath Jack’s chin and inspecting the charm’s handiwork.

“Why?” Jack asked as Tonks chewed her lip and frowned slightly.

“They’re sort of strict about the age thing, but I suppose that’s an easier problem than someone recognizing you,” Tonks blew a quick puff of breath into the tiny space, determined now, “Just follow my lead alright?”

Jack nodded, though she still wasn’t sure what it was she was agreeing to. 

Tonks gave her a small reassuring smile as she raised her wand again and doing the same zigzagging between the mortar she’d done on the street. This time the wall opened to a darkly lit pub, alive with people and noisier than Jack was truly prepared for given the state of her ears.

“You took me to a bar?” Jack asked in a hushed whisper. 

There was a unicorn horn above the bar – a fake one Jack hoped.

“What’s with the-?” she began to ask as Tonks shooed her out of the elevator.

“Never mind that, you any sort of actress?” she asked in a hushed whisper. Jack didn’t respond immediately, confused as she was by the question, but finally shook her head ‘no’ she was after all a terrible liar.

“Right, just follow my lead then and don’t talk unless you have to,” she said. Jack was about to ask why that was necessary when she looked up to find a massive witch with a crew cut and every facial piercing available already walking their way from behind the bar. Jack openly stared at the sleeves of the tight robe she was wearing, they looked about ready to burst at the seams around the muscle of her arms.

“Tonks, come on, she looks like she’s ten years old,” the bartender said, pointing to Jack and looking incredulously at the Auror.

“Vidya!” Tonks squealed excitedly throwing her arms up and wrapping them around the bartender’s neck as she reached them.

“Are you drunk?” the woman asked, thick dark eyebrows and four gold studs, rising in surprise.

“No,” Tonks said, with a slight slur to her voice that sounded genuine.

“Yeah, I don’t believe you,” Vidya said, extricating herself from the hug and turning towards Jack.

“Don’t be grumpy!” Tonks drawled with a poorly aimed slap at the bartender’s arm.

“You are so stupid,” the woman said, the slightest glint of a smile on her face, “what’s your story firstie?”

Jack chewed on her lip, she had no idea what she was supposed to say.

“I’m showing my little cousin ‘round London, and seeing as she is,” Tonks leaned forward, conspiracy in her eyes, “a gay,” she raised her eyes to the rest of the bar, darting them back and forth in a mockery of paranoia, “I thought the Horn was a must see.”

The bartender stared at Tonks like she’d sprouted a horn of her own.

“Uh yeah,” Jack said, raising a hand nervously to the back of her head, “I am a…a gay,” she said, flushing pink when the bartender turned to stare at her, “well, I am.”

_WOW_ Jack could practically hear Sadie cackling.

“Come on Vidya! She won’t drink, and I’ll take personal responsibility for her behavior, I promise we won’t get rowdy,” Tonks said putting a hand on the bartender’s arm, “Well I promise she won’t get rowdy, what time you off tonight by the way?”

Vidya rolled her eyes and shook Tonks’s hand off her arm.

“Back booth, and you didn’t need to fake tipsy, you could have just stopped by ahead of time and asked,” she said shoving playfully at Tonks’s shoulder and hitching a thumb towards the back of the room.

“Does that mean you’ll bring me a beer?” Tonks asked.

“No, that’s what you get for lying. Tea, hot even, if you behave yourself the rest of the night,” Vidya said looking pointedly at Jack.

“You, tea?” she asked. Jack shrugged.

“Don’t suppose you have coffee?” she asked. The bartender rolled her eyes a little but nodded and dismissed them to the booth with a wave of her hand.

“I really thought I did a better drunk than that,” Tonks said looking a little put out as she steered Jack towards the back of the bar. 

“So, what’s with the Unicorn Horn?” Jack asked, remembering her first question.

“Unicorns aren’t too keen on boys, and in case Vidya wasn’t a clue, neither is anyone in here really,” Tonks said with a laugh, “myself the exception of course, I rather like them, when I’m in the mood.”

Jack flushed a little as Tonks gestured her into an ancient, worn looking booth in the darkest of dark corners. There were shelves all along the walls of the bar, crammed full of tiny figurines, the same figurines actually that she’d just been losing hand over fist to Ron in chess. There were thousands of them, some of them so old they’d finally stopped moving on their own. Jack examined the closest shelf, it was all players in orange, firing cannons on their chests in blue.

“So, you like girls too? When you’re in the mood?” Jack asked settling into the beaten flat padding on the hard, wooden bench. There was a wireless set mounted into the wall at her left, it took all her willpower not to immediately try looking for an American station, which was something compared with her intense desire to start looking at every single figurine in the place.

“I like people,” Tonks said smiling as she passed the table and walked up to a large wooden cabinet. Just on the other side of it, “especially people who like me.”

_I like you, I like you a lot_ Jack thought with a slight shake of her head to clear it as she watched Tonks fumble in the cabinet for a moment and reappear with three wooden boxes, one large, two smaller.

“What are those?” Jack asked as Tonks sat across from her, letting the boxes hit the table with a deep thud.

“This is why we came here,” Tonks said lifting the lid of the largest box and reaching inside, “this bar was opened in 1960, by Cora Welby, still owns it actually.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, darting all over the place, looking for some kind of sign to confirm it.

“Cora Welby? The Harpies chaser? That Cora Welby? Three time league champion Cora Welby?” Jack asked eyes still darting.

“Yes, that Cora Welby,” Vidya said as she walked up to the booth with a tray containing a teapot, a pot of coffee, two mugs and a hastily thrown together dish of additives.

“Cora Welby isn’t- “Jack paused, brow wrinkling, looking at Vidya, then Tonks, “a…she isn’t a gay though.”

“Is that phrasing an American thing or…?” Vidya asked as she set Jack’s mug down in front of her.

Tonks laughed, “No she isn’t, she started the bar as a women’s only sport enthusiast club.”

“She wanted a place for women to talk about Quidditch without getting hit on or talked over,” Vidya clarified putting a full shaker of sugar in front of Tonks with a knowing look.

“And it turned into a gay bar?” Jack asked as Tonks lifted something large and clunky looking under a sheet out of the first box.

“Well lots of the Harpies in the sixties were…the gay?” Vidya said looking at Jack to see if she’d gotten the construction correct. Jack didn’t have an answer so she nodded in acknowledgement as the bartender continued.

“So, when they started using the ‘sport club’ to find girls, it sort of evolved into the Horn and Cora was just pleased people were coming so,” Vidya finished with a shrug.

“And best of all- “Tonks said, lifting the sheet from the thing she’d pulled from the box.

Jack’s mouth dropped open, it was a scale model of the Junkyard.

“It’s still the best place in London to go if you want to say, watch a foreign match without traveling,” Tonks finished with a grin as she lifted one of the smaller boxes and held it out to Jack. There was a long piece of Spell-o-Tape on the box with the word ‘BANSHEES-USA-BROOKLYN’ written on it. Jack could have leapt over the table, she could have cried.

Jack snatched the box from her hands, pulling the top open. Inside there were twenty-five little figurines stalking around the interior and looking positively livid about it. She plucked Myra’s out with barely a moment’s thought and set it down on the table, then Leah, Keysha, Loretta, Sue and with a grudging sneer, Delia Goggins. She took the Sadie figurine out and studied it, it stuck it’s tongue out at her. True to life but not terribly comforting at the moment.

“You’re a Banshee fan?” Vidya asked raising an eyebrow as Jack arrayed the figurines in formation on the miniature pitch. Her parents had a model like this of the Boston Rockets pitch. It was a neat little trick but the models were very expensive and keeping the rosters updated with the correct figures was time consuming.

“Yeah,” Jack said as looked in the box, to be double sure she hadn’t missed anyone. Her own figurine was sitting in a corner twirling the perfectly detailed warhead in her hands in longing.

_Tell me about it_

“You’re going to have to pull these out I’ve never even heard of this team,” Tonks said handing her the box marked ‘BOGGARTS-USA-BRONX’.

“Ugh, I watched the Harpies exhibition on the table here. That was a mad match,” Vidya said pointing at the model. Jack nodded.

_Tell me about it_

“Is that the right chaser?” Vidya asked pointing at Delia with a concerned frown on her face, “There was a cute little- “

“Yeah no, McCubbin’s on leave or something,” Jack said quickly picking out the Boggarts according to Sadie’s intel. Their starting seven hadn’t changed in a while, and there was a reason they were usually top of the league. Elston Webber’s smug face was irritating, even in miniature as she placed the Boggarts’ captain in front of the visiting hoops.

“That’s damned lucky for those guys,” Vidya said pointing at the Boggarts and giving Jack a small smile.

“Yeah,” she said quietly as Tonks cleared the boxes onto the bench beside her and began to fiddle with the wireless’s dials.

Jack watched for a moment, Vidya was still there, looking like she was expecting the conversation to continue. Jack decided not to be rude, though it would have been easier.

“I’m sort of a Harpies fan too,” she offered meekly looking at the Horn above the bar, now that she wasn’t nervous about failing some kind of impromptu acting exercise she could see the swirls of the horn had been painted in Harpies colors.

Vidya smiled broadly, “Yeah they’re sort of popular in here, you see the far wall there?” she asked gesturing to the wall the elevator was on. Jack nodded.

“Go take a look,” Vidya said with a small smile. Jack looked to Tonks, who barely looked up from the knobs of the wireless set to wave her off.

Jack did as she was bid, looking back at the miniature Junkyard with hesitant optimism. She didn’t think anything but the opportunity to examine the shelves could have pulled her away from the booth.  
Jack crossed the bar again, weaving around several sets of nervously chatting witches as she went, there were more than a few first dates unfolding around her, and now that she could focus on it, more than a few tables with models and figurines on them. The Harpies game was in full swing already and Jack winced appreciatively as she watched a tiny Gwenog Jones blast a bludger so hard into the keeper of the Kenmare Kestrals she thought the poor man might be dead.

_I feel ya dude._

“Little young for here aren’t you?” one of the witches at the table asked pointedly when she noticed Jack had stopped to look. Jack grinned a brief apology and mumbled what had was supposed to be that she was older than she looked, though she only thought she may have gotten two or three of the words out as she retreated towards the wall Vidya had pointed to.

It was floor to ceiling Harpies.

Jack almost squealed in joy but remembered just in time where she was and how many ladies of a certain disposition would witness such an undignified display. She choked it down, checked over her shoulder to see Tonks hadn’t been looking, though it looked distinctly like Vidya had turned around just a moment before.

She started at the top, the figurines were oldest here. The figurines had only been introduced in 1960 so the oldest ones were of an age with the Horn as an institution. There were the requisite shelf and a half of Gwendolyn Morgan, Cora Welby herself and one of Jack’s personal favorites Virginia ‘Windowmaker’ Croft, a beater so vicious she’d scratched a tally mark on her bat for every career ending injury she’d inflicted. Judging by the five lines on the miniature bat of the figurine she was currently admiring, this was fairly early in her career.

As she scanned the rest of the Harpies, inwardly pining to reach out and touch every single tiny version of women she’d admired since she was too small to fly on her own. Her eyes lighted on the next shelf, a small plaque reading ‘1965-1970’ and the grin she wore turned softer as she scanned the tiny figures. There were the last of the Gwendolyn Morgans the limited-edition Croft figurine that had Albert Derbyshire’s blood splatted on it, and finally Jack had to give in to her desire to touch the miniature history.

Jack picked up the figurine with the spiky dirty blonde hair and golden eyes with nothing short of reverence. No matter how unpleasant she knew the life-sized version could be. Rookie Hooch was glaring angrily up at her, apart from the hair color and the absence of lines on her face, there honestly seemed to be little difference between twenty-year-old Hooch and fifty-year-old Hooch. She held the figurine in the palm of her hand, it was tossing a quaffle in the air and catching it in some fairly slick maneuvers considering the age of the charm on it. She looked murderous, and desperate to crash any of the games going on tabletops all around the bar. Jack smirked. She’d had precious little time all things considered to talk to Hooch about quidditch. She should really try to fix that.

“FUCK! WHAT DID YOU DO?” 

Jack jumped and turned towards Vidya’s voice as a high-pitched shriek pierced the bar. Jack rushed back to the booth, grin spreading over her face as there was a general creaking of wooden benches as other patrons turned to see what in the hell had caused the noise.

“Magical wireless doesn’t get feedback,” Vidya said, looking at the set in annoyance.

“No, that’s right,” Jack said with a grin as the shriek faded.

_BROOKLYN ARE YOU READY TO SCREEEEEAAAAAM?_

Tonks had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing as Vidya turned to stare at Jack.

“Americans are mental, and apparently deaf,” she said with a shake of her head as she leaned forward to turn the volume of the wireless set down a few dozen notches. Jack couldn’t wipe the stupid grin from her face long enough to apologize as Cat Blanchard, the Banshees home announcer began warming up the crowd at the Junkyard. 

As the Boggarts took the pitch the corresponding figurines did laps or loop the loops as their names were called. Jack hadn’t even touched her coffee yet and moved to sit when she realized she was still holding the Hooch figurine. She offered it to Vidya who looked like to be chased back to the bar by the noise, muted as it was now.

“Keep it, we’ve got hundreds of her,” Vidya said with a dismissive wave, “I’ve got two full boxes of her in the back.”

“Really? Thanks,” Jack beamed up at the barkeep as she rolled her eyes at Cat’s next wave of sound and retreated back to the bar.

Jack tucked the little figurine in her pocket, which earned her an angry jab from its broomstick.

“Thought this might be better than reading it in the paper tomorrow,” Tonks said with a small smile as the Boggarts’ beaters feigned jousting each other.

“This is,” Jack said looking up at Tonks, face flushing, “this is incredible, thank you so much.”

Tonks smiled, lifting the sugar and the lid from the teapot, “My pleasure, not too often I get to do fun things after work anymore.”

_SCREAMERS UP BROOKLYN!_

Jack bit back the small talk she was going to make, eyes on the table as Cat started calling the Banshees names. Her chest felt like it was going to burst open when she called Keysha and Sadie, their figurines playing chicken and swapping brooms midair to the delight of the crowd Jack was sure.

“Does she just shout the whole time?” Tonks asked glancing at the wireless and then at the other bar patrons, who had looked away from the corner but were still clearly concerned at the volume. Jack turned it down a bit more.

“Just for the opening, she’ll calm down,” Jack said as Loretta’s figurine shot like a rocket around the little model.

“You know I think I’ve got you for about two hours before Molly sends a search party,” Tonks said with an apologetic wince. Jack nodded, it had to be a fast game or she would miss the ending.

“I know,” Jack said with a pitiful groan as the teams squared for the start of the game. Myra was taking the tip off, Jack smiled a little to herself. 

_Not as good at that are we Delia?_

“If you don’t want to make small talk, that’s fine you know,” Tonks said looking a little nervously across the table. Jack flushed deeper.

“No, it’s fine,” she said as Myra’s figure collided with the tiny quaffle and soared up towards the far end of the pitch, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Tonks smiled a little, “You’re not, it’s just that I don’t know much about your team here, and I’m not sure I’m going to be particularly good company.”

Jack had to swallow a shout of triumph as Myra sent the quaffle through the left hoop.

“Well, for starters, Myra’s good enough to be doing that all game,” Jack said pointing to the figurines as they huddled up and clapped Myra’s on the back.

Tonks laughed, “Which one’s your friend? The one with the girl trouble?” 

Jack pointed at Sadie’s figurine, currently clobbering a bludger towards Elston Webber’s head.

“Oh, come on! She’s clearly too cute to get dumped,” Tonks said appraising the tiny beater as she whizzed after another bludger to throw.

“She’s hopeless with girls, she’s oblivious,” Jack said with an affectionate smile as Sadie’s tiny bat knocked against Keysha’s after a particularly vicious strike.

“Oh,” Tonks said, eyes going wide as she looked at the table, “I love gossip, tell me every awful thing about all of them!”

Jack grinned.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I can’t believe it,” Jack said again as they walked out of the wall and onto the street. It was largely empty, there wasn’t anything else open on this stretch this late at night.

“Quidditch,” Tonks replied with a shrug and a consoling smile. 

Loretta had been beaten to the snitch twenty points shy of it even mattering any more. The Banshees had lost by ten measly points.

“Guess I can rule out Sadie being in a good mood tomorrow. I won’t be able to apologize for a week,” Jack said with a weak grin as she tucked the wooden box under her arm. Vidya had shoved it at her as they were leaving, Jack was fairly certain she knew what was in it but was waiting until they got back to the house to inspect it properly.

“Yeah, bout that. How exactly are you talking to her by the way?” Tonks asked casually as she stepped past Jack on the sidewalk and waggled an eyebrow, “More importantly do Hooch and McGonagall know?”

Jack swallowed, she’d utterly forgotten to keep the journal a secret, she had been so upset. 

_Hooch is going to skin me alive._

“Please don’t tell them I told you,” Jack began, her chest growing tight at the implication and tighter still at the fact that she knew she sounded like a scared rabbit, which was about the last thing she wanted to sound like in front of Tonks.

Tonks’s face went grim, apologetically downcast, “They need to know Jack.”

Jack tried to force a smile onto her face, this was a problem easily fixed.

“I told them! Well, Hooch sort of caught me with it and we had a huge fight and I got disappointed face from McGonagall,” she said quickly, hoping that Tonks would skip over the part where she admitted she’d kept the journal a secret.

“Oh,” Tonks said with a wince, “I hate that face. It’s the worst face!”

Jack grinned as they began moving again, the inward sigh of relief putting a bit more bounce in her step.

“You’ve got to be more careful than that,” Tonks continued, her voice softly somber again, “Not that I’m not pleased you trust me, but you’re about to go to Hogwarts and it’s a bubbling cauldron of hormones, rumors and gossip.”

Jack took an exaggerated step away from Tonks on the sidewalk, “Is that supposed to make me feel better about going?”

Tonks grinned a little, Jack grinned wider.

_It is really pretty when you do that…_

“It’s meant to scare you. You need to watch what you say,” she said, pushing playfully on Jack’s shoulder. “If nothing else, I know Ginny would murder you if you got yourself in trouble. She’s grown rather fond of you.”

Jack rolled her eyes a little as they rounded the corner to Grimauld Place, “Hermione’d kill me too, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because she hates McGonagall’s disappointed face more than any other human on earth.”

Tonks laughed, equally pretty, and Jack had to watch her feet for a second.

“I’d hope Madam Hooch has her beat,” she said, pausing for a moment. “That’s such a weird couple, I almost fell over when I found out.”

Tonks tripped on an exceptionally evenly laid slab of concrete and Jack grabbed for her elbow before the Auror could go face first into a planter.

“No offense, but it’s not like you need a lot of provocation,” Jack said with a smile as Tonks righted herself and checked her pockets. Since Jack had known her, a whole two weeks, she’d lost three sneak-o-scopes and about three dozen quills and pieces of paper.

Tonks pushed her neon green bangs out of her face, “I guess I’m probably not the best person to give you tips on being inconspicuous,” she said as they began walking again.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Jack said with a sigh as the stoop of number twelve came into view. “All I’ve gotten so far is to be quiet.”

Tonks smiled weakly, “I know, there was this one time, when I was ten, my mother tried to get my aunt Narcissa to come round the house for some ‘family time’.” Tonks shook her head. “All she kept saying to me was not to talk to her unless she asked me a question. I thought I was going to bust out of my skin.”

“How’d it go?” Jack asked, honestly curious.

“She didn’t come. My mum’s family hates her because she married my dad and she’s not a pureblood fanatic,” Tonks said, looking sad and proud at once. Jack nodded, unsure what else to do with yet another braver reaction to having a terrible family.

“Sirius and I are second cousins,” Tonks said with a soft smile. “I wish I could tell mum he’s innocent. I know it broke her heart when they sent him to Azkaban.”

Jack frowned, “Well some day he’ll get to tell her himself, right?” she asked. Tonks nodded, picked up by the idea.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”

Jack took the steps slowly. She didn’t want to go in yet, the freedom had been too wonderful, even if she’d had an escort the entire time.

“We should probably sort out our story here,” Jack said, looking over her shoulder as Tonks reached for the door handle.

“We didn’t find anyone, and I had that box stashed in my desk,” Tonks said with a small smile and a shrug. “Honestly we were out a bit later than I meant I’d be surprised if anyone’s still awake.

Tonks pushed the door open softly, the squeak of the hinges for once barely audible. Jack moved into the house first, hoping to act as a buffer between the clumsy auror and the seemingly endless cursed tchotchkes that the Blacks had littering the hall. It was like their only purpose was to alert Walburga’s portrait of the imminent defiling of her former home.

“WHERE WERE YOU?” 

Hooch’s voice and a cloud of pipe smoke reached Jack before she could even lay eyes on the first bit of the obstacle course that was the entrance hall.

“Madam Hooch!” Tonks said excited and friendly as she closed the door behind her, “I told Professor McGonagall-“

“I know what you told Professor McGonagall,” Hooch said. She was seated on the steps – which step Jack wasn’t clear on, since she was mostly obscured by the cloud of smoke.

“Right,” Tonks said slowly, looking to Jack as if the world’s worst liar was going to intervene on her behalf.

“Uh,” Jack began, her face flushing red.

“I want to make it clear,” Hooch said, standing from the stairs and descending them in two strides, “That this is your one and only opportunity to tell me the truth.”

Jack looked at Hooch’s face, those golden eyes were flashing, not a good sign.

“We…went…to…” she began.

“The Horn. I took her to the Horn to watch the Banshees match,” Tonks blurted, sidestepping Jack and walking quick as she could towards the kitchen. The bang she made as she crashed into the doorframe and cursed, punctuated the sharp look Jack shot at her back.

_Traitor._

“You are sixteen,” Hooch growled, reaching one hand out to grab Tonks by her shirt as she attempted to pass her. “You are an adult.”

“I am old enough-“ Jack began to interject as Molly Weasley came storming out of the kitchen.

“You absolutely are not, and I will not hear any excuses as to why you,” she said staring down Tonks as if the auror had just threatened a puppy, “could possibly be so irresponsible as to bring a child into a-a-“

Molly’s face went red for a moment, the tips of her ears almost purple as she searched for the words to describe the transgression, “a den of INIQUITY that-“

“Ginny said she needed cheering up!” Tonks protested as she squirmed free of Hooch’s grasp and pointed emphatically to the second floor.

Jack thought for a moment that Molly had been struck dumb. She thought, for a moment, that Mrs. Weasley might not have the words to respond to this accusation.

“GINEVRA WEASLEY GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!” 

Jack winced, mostly due to the fact that despite the command Mrs. Weasley was already storming to the stairs. “Don’t bother pretending not to hear me either, I found three more of those damnable ears under the door at dinner!”

“Den of iniquity?” Jack asked Hooch, hoping that she might be taken aback just enough by the explosion of Molly’s fury, and the portraits grumblings of displeasure, to have forgotten she was angry with her. Hooch watched Molly climb the stairs as the creak of Ginny’s door closing pierced through the hall.

“She’s exaggerating,” Hooch said, looking just as angry as she had before, “At least – it hasn’t been since the seventies.”

“Not since you stopped going then?” Tonks asked with a wink, Jack couldn’t tell if it was directed at Hooch or herself.

“I’ll have you know I went to the Horn not two months ago, and I was never inappropriate,” Hooch said with a scathing look in Jack’s direction.

“Well it’s not like I came back drunk with lipstick on my collar,” Jack offered, grinning in what she hoped was an endearingly impish way.

“I’d say I was disappointed if I didn’t think it would get me sent to my room,” Sirius offered from the doorway as he grabbed Tonks by the hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

“Oh sure, rescue her! I thought we were friends now!” Jack called after them as Tonks gave her an apologetic smile and disappeared around the corner.

“I should have known better than to let you bring her here,” Hooch called over her shoulder. “As if putting her in a house with the Weasley twins, Tonks and Sirius Black was going to improve her behavior.”

“Xio I’m perfectly willing to have this out but can we do it in here?” McGonagall’s weary sounding brogue wafted through the hallway, and Jack made a beeline for the kitchen, “extinguish the pipe first if you please,” McGonagall added hastily as Hooch began to stomp after Jack.

“I am not the one in trouble, and this house could benefit from some cleansing smoke,” Hooch snapped. Jack almost ran into the kitchen and immediately trotted over to take the seat next to Tonks. If the auror thought she was going to stay separated from this, Jack was going to disabuse her of that notion. She offered McGonagall, sitting in the same seat she’d left her in, a weak smile by way of greeting.

“Oh, come on,” Tonks whispered harshly as Jack took her seat.

“Don’t give me that! You abandoned me out there. Some Gryffindor you are,” Jack said, jerking her head towards the hallway. Sirius laughed.

“I-“ Tonks said, sitting straighter and looking very affronted, “am a Hufflepuff.”

“Yeah, well you Huffle-poofed out of there first chance you got,” Jack said with a cocky smile. Sirius laughed again, louder this time when Tonks turned her hair red and made her mouth bigger to frown more dramatically.

“May I remind you that you are in fact still in trouble?”

Jack looked back to Hooch, the quidditch mistress was now standing beside McGonagall’s chair, hands on the table as if she were about to launch herself across it using only her arms.

“What are you going to do? Ground her? Tell her she can’t leave the house?” Sirius asked, wiping away tears of laughter from his face as Jack and Tonks’ mouths both went slack with shock.

“I understand you’ve been a godfather for an entire year now but I will thank you to not-“ Hooch growled.

“And I will thank you to not,” McGonagall snapped, pointing Hooch into a chair, “Besides I knew perfectly well what was going on, if you think I can’t tell when Miss Tonks is lying, you are vastly underestimating me.”

Hooch’s eyes went wide, stunned as she turned to face McGonagall, Jack might’ve thought it was funny if everyone, including herself weren’t doing precisely the same thing.  
If McGonagall was at all phased by this she didn’t show it. She merely waved off her wife’s consternation absently and stared down the table at Tonks.

“For the record, I do think you may want to practice a bit considering your profession, but that’s beside the point,” McGonagall turned her gaze to Hooch. “She needed this and I can’t think of a better person to send her with than an Auror.”

“What if someone had seen her?” Hooch asked.

“I’m sure several people did, but judging by the fact that the disillusionment charm hasn’t worn off completely I’m assuming Miss Tonks took the proper precautions,” McGonagall said with a knowing look at Jack. Jack furrowed her brows and Tonks winced.

“I honestly forgot your hair wasn’t streaked like that,” Tonks said, pulling her wand out. Jack closed her eyes, she couldn’t actually be mad, it wasn’t as if she’d remembered either.

“You knew. You knew she was going to take her to a bar?” Hooch said, incredulous.

“I may have mentioned to Ginny Weasley that I seemed to recall an establishment in London that had scale tables, and I may have mentioned that I believed Miss Tonks may be a patron,” McGonagall said, raising a cup of tea to her lips and taking a sip.

“YOU TOLD THEM TO-“ Hooch began, her face beginning to glow red just below her gray spikes.

“I did not, I merely suggested that such things existed. They did the rest on their own,” McGonagall said, setting the tea down and standing, “So you see, she is not actually in trouble, and now I should probably go save my youngest Weasley from her mother. If you’ll excuse me.”

Hooch stepped silently out of the way as McGonagall glided, unperturbed, from the kitchen and began to climb the stairs. The sound of Molly talking hushed and angry still through her daughter’s door stopped after only a moment.

“Albus Dumbledore has been a terrible influence on that woman,” Hooch said, slumping into a chair and pulling Minerva’s cup of tea forward.

“Don’t suppose you could’ve mentioned that before we got home,” Jack muttered standing to make tea for herself. She had not defected entirely from coffee, but she had to admit that Earl Grey was charming itself into her regular caffeine rotation.

“Of course not. She was bent on me making a fool of myself first,” Hooch offered, sipping at the teacup and glaring at Sirius.  
“If I’d been ten years older,” Sirius said wistfully, watching after where McGonagall had departed.

“You’d still be too young, and out of the running besides,” Hooch snapped sloshing the tea in her cup and holding it out to Jack, who sighed and took it without a word.

“I don’t suppose that this means I’m not being punished?” Jack asked offhandedly, just to be sure as she settled the kettle on the burner.

“Oh no, you’re going to be punished,” Hooch said, a slight lilt of amusement in her voice, “But it’s not my doing.”

Sirius huffed behind her, Jack turned to Hooch, eyebrows arching in alarm.

“That’s nonsense, Minerva just said that she wasn’t in trou-“ Sirius began.

“And I just said it wasn’t my doing. Had you not disappeared earlier you would have been here for the owl from Professor Marchbanks,” Hooch said, turning to Jack with a wicked grin on her face, “Your exams are tomorrow morning. She’s had an illness in her family and she needed to move them up.”

Jack dropped the teacup she was holding, barely noticing as it shattered on the floor and the pieces skittered to every corner of the kitchen.

“WHAT?” she cried, tightness roared into her chest, it was like her hearing had cut out.

“Merlin’s beard, you are a Ravenclaw aren’t you?” Tonks asked with a short laugh.

“But…..But I haven’t….But…” Jack couldn’t form words properly, even as Tonks pointed her wand to the shattered teacup and flicked it back into one piece.

“I thought you passed your equivalency with flying colors?” Hooch asked, looking just the slightest bit alarmed at Jack’s reaction.

“But…” Jack eased herself against the counter, clapping one palm to it’s smooth surface to steady herself, the other over her racing heart. “I have to go study. Oh holy shit, I need to study right now. Oh my fucking wand, I need to go study!”

Hooch stood from the table before Jack could even push herself off of the counter to flee for her books, “You’ll do fine, you’ll be fine. Besides it’s not, as you have said, like it matters which year you’ll be in.”

“No…no I…you don’t…I mean,” Jack paused, catching her breath, trying to find words to express her terror, “I haven’t even LOOKED at that book Hermione gave me on the affect of different dialects on charm work! Or that article on the different slang for Magical Creatures! Or…”

Tonks stood and wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders steering her towards the table, “See? Now look what you’ve done, you’ve broken her!” she said, gesturing frantically between Hooch and Jack. “She’s got anxiety!”

“For someone who was dismissing this entire exercise as a joke a week ago, you’re awfully torn up about it,” Sirius said, looking honestly shocked as Jack was lowered gently into a chair. She couldn’t, in this state, even appreciate the fact that Tonks was more or less wrapped around her person, she was that far gone.

McGonagall rushed back into the room, clearly responding to the frantic braying. Her wand was out, she replaced it with a heavy sigh as she surveyed the situation, “I see you told her.”

“WE FEED CORN TO PEGASUSES…PEGASI WHATEVER THE HELL THEY’RE CALLED!” Jack blurted out, the room silenced four sets of eyes fixed on her a mix of concern, alarm and disbelief.

“NIFFLERS ARE AN INVASIVE SPECIES!” Jack exclaimed, her hands flailing for emphasis, “WE DON’T LEARN HOW TO TAKE CARE OF THEM, WE LEARN-“

“All-right, why don’t we just head to bed?” Hooch said, her earlier anger fled from her face as she looked to McGonagall for confirmation that Jack had clearly lost her mind.

“Almost all of your spells are based on latin! Some of our most effective enchantments have Germanic origin! Some have Arabic! What if I-?” Jack stammered.

“You seem to have a fairly firm grasp on the differences dear,” McGonagall said, the slightest approving smile creeping onto her face.

“What if she asks me to transfigure something, and I don’t know what she’s talking about because we don’t call a truck a lorry because that makes no fucking-?”

McGonagall frowned, “Language. Now go upstairs and go to bed. You’ll need to be as well rested as you are prepared.”

“I’M NOT PREPARED!” Jack shouted.

“Yes you are, and I’m sure once you tell Miss Granger it’s an academic emergency, she will assist you with any last minute preparations you may have,” Hooch said nodding to Tonks to help Jack out of the chair.

“But…” Jack squeaked as Tonks pulled her up out of the chair and steered her to Hooch.

“Yes, yes we know. We use the metric system for measuring potions ingredients and you’re morally offended by that even though it is literally the international standard,” Hooch said soothingly as she extricated Jack from Tonks’ arms.

“What? No we use metric too, that’s-“ Jack began as Hooch patted her on the back.

“Yes, yes we know,” Hooch said reaching for the box that Jack had left unopened on the table in her panic.

“But you just-“

“What’s in here?” Hooch asked as the box rattled in her hand.

“Nothing,” Jack said, her face turning a little red. She didn’t actually know, for all she could guess it could be two dozen tiny angry Banshees, and as amusing as it would be to watch them swarm Hooch if she opened the lid, Jack didn’t really want to hear whatever inventive, derisive things Hooch could have to say about them.

“Nothing doesn’t rattle,” Hooch said, giving her a sharp look and steering her towards the hallway. McGonagall took hold of her other arm to steady her and before Jack knew it they were halfway up the stairs, shuffling along awkwardly.

“Exams tomorrow morning, and then once Professor Marchbanks has tallied your score, we’ll know what year you’ll be placed in and we can go to Diagon Alley for your supplies. You’ll need robes of course and the proper spell-books and…” McGonagall was saying into her ear. Jack knew she was trying to calm her down but for some reason even the thought of new books was not in any way easing her panic.

Mrs. Weasley exited the bedroom a moment before they hit the landing. She did not look nearly as angry as she had when she went in, but Jack couldn’t help but feel that if Fred and George didn’t reel in the identical flesh colored bits of string snaking across the hallway at the moment, she might go off again.

 

“What is in this, it feels like it’s moving on its own,” Hooch said as she released Jack. McGonagall, not expecting the sudden lack of support dipped a bit as she reached for the door to the bedroom.

“Check that box,” Molly said, “Merlin knows I never would have suspected it of Ginny before tonight but for all we know it could be…” Mrs. Weasley paused looking too beside herself for words, “alcohol or even worse!”

“Worse? You give your kids sugar beer,” Jack said through the thudding of her heart in her chest.

“Butter beer,” Hooch corrected her as she popped the lid open, her eyes narrowed for a moment, and then she smiled broadly.

“What is it?” Molly asked leaning forward to inspect the contents of the box. 

“Nothing,” Hooch said, snapping the lid shut and shoving the box into Jack’s arms.

“Nothing doesn’t rattle,” Molly repeated, looking confusedly to McGonagall. McGonagall just shook her head.

“Never you mind Molly,” Hooch said, “Now best let the girls get their rest it’ll be a full day tomorrow.”

Jack was about to protest again that she wasn’t nearly ready for the exams when the front door downstairs banged open, the paintings screeching in anger at the intrusion. Hooch, McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley all drew their wands and ran to the bannister, pointing them down into the entrance way, then pulling them back as one.

“Kingsley?” McGonagall breathed in trepidation. Jack snuck forward, nudging the end of one of the extendable ears out into the open air for the twins as she went.

“Minerva,” a tall black wizard in Ministry robes nodded in their direction as he moved towards the kitchen, where Tonks and Sirius were waiting for him, wands drawn.

“What’s happened?” Tonks asked, her voice high and serious in a way Jack didn’t think she’d ever heard it. The bedroom door opened behind her and Jack didn’t have to turn to know both Ginny and Hermione had poked their heads into the hall.

“We just received word from Little Whinging. Harry Potter and his cousin were attacked by Dementors tonight,” Kingsley said, taking a deep breath as if he’d run here, “Dumbledore wants us to begin planning for the boy’s extraction.”

“Is he all right, Kingsley?” McGonagall breathed. Jack looked at Sirius, his face had gone deathly pale, like it had with the boggart.

“Yes, from what Albus told me, he is fine, but he’s been expelled and Albus is preoccupied arranging his appeal so the rest of the plan will be for us to decide,” Kingsley waved a wand at the portraits, who stopped their noise almost at once, Jack blinked.

“Girls go to bed,” Molly said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder and steering her back towards the door.

“Extracted?” Hooch asked, “to where?”

“Here,” Kingsley responded.

“When?” McGonagall countered as Mrs. Weasley shoved Jack toward the cracked open bedroom door, Ginny and Hermione had retreated ahead of them.

“Now, stay in there,” Molly said gently, closing the door behind Jack and clicking it shut.

“Oh, I hope Harry’s all right,” Hermione said, she was sitting on her bed, a textbook clutched protectively to her chest.

“He’s fine. He handled Dementors fine before,” Ginny said, chewing her lip nervously. Jack wasn’t sure it was convincing. Jack swallowed hard, she wasn’t sure she could take this kind of tension on top of her own worries.

“It feels kind of stupid now, but does anyone want to know what my day is going to be like tomorrow?” Jack asked.

Hermione and Ginny laughed a little. Jack winced a smile. At least it had the desired effect.

“I don’t suppose you still want to study? I don’t think I could sleep,” Hermione said, reaching for more books.

“Actually that is exactly what I want to do,” Jack said, she set the box down on the bed and reached for her own books. 

“What’s in the box?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know, I haven’t looked,” Jack said weakly, reaching for the _History of Wizarding Britain_ on her bedside table.

“Well I want to know, and considering the chewing out, I just got I think I have a right to besides,” Ginny said flopping on the quilt and reaching for the box.

Jack laughed.

“I’m sure they would have said if he was hurt, right? I mean Harry’s boggart is a dementor, and you don’t think he could have froze or-” Hermione asked no one in particular.

“I’m sure they would,” Jack said, trying to keep her voice soft as Ginny clicked the latch of the box open and lifted the lid.

“Oh my-“ she said, bursting into mad giggles as a swarm of tiny Hooches flitted into the air and began flying in formation.

“Is that?” Hermione asked, momentarily distracted by both her friend’s danger and the prospect of studying.

“Oh man, she’s never going to let that go,” Jack said, her face flushing as Macha began flapping around the tiny room, clicking her beak at the little figurines who were doing all manner of acrobatic maneuvers to avoid her.

“Probably not,” Ginny said matter of factly as Macha swooped down on one of the ’68 Hooches, who did a barrel roll right into Jack’s face.

“We should really get those back in the box,” Hermione said softly. She waved her wand, and the figures zoomed obediently back into their container.

“Hermione I’m sure he’s fine,” Ginny said, letting the lid fall shut and looking to Jack to confirm this information.

“I know he is Ginny, but don’t you see that this means something bigger is happening?” Hermione asked.

Jack swallowed.

“Like what?” Ginny asked.

“Dementors aren’t supposed to leave Azkaban,” Hermione said flatly. “If they did they either did so on Ministry orders or You-Know-Who’s.”

Jack sat on the bed, extracting the tiny Hooch from the bar wall from her pocket and bumping it up into the air for Macha to chase. She was listening, but she didn’t want to be. Hermione went on, explaining all the various, equally terrible things that could have caused or could result from this serious breach of normalcy and safety. Jack propped the History text open in her lap. 

It was a lot easier, and a lot more pleasant to be worried about an exam now. Jack shivered a little at the thought that Sirius’s boggart could well have become a reality that night. Not a little bit of that was the ever-threatening possibility that her own could do the same.

She wondered, as she tried to sink into the pillow, whether or not anyone in this house, or in Little Whinging, would get a wink of sleep tonight.


	11. Professors and Pierogi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: fairly frank discussion of the holocaust.

“Your eggs fell off your fork five minutes ago.”

Jack’s eyes twitched from the Ancient Runes text on the kitchen table to her fork, which was in fact being held aloft blissfully unburdened, the eggs it had been holding now saturating the cover of the advanced level Potions textbook Hermione had lent to her the night before when everything had finally calmed down enough to allow Jack to have a properly terrified conversation.

Hermione hadn’t offered any help beyond that, she was too busy sneaking off to Ron’s room to inform him of whatever new impending disaster the appearance of the dementors could be warning of. 

Jack had been ever so slightly annoyed by that, particularly after Mrs. Weasley had come upstairs to assure them that they had received more information, and Harry Potter was in fact, apart from his expulsion, perfectly fine. That hadn’t soothed Hermione in the slightest; if anything the ‘expulsion’ part had finally seemed to sink in and she’d become even less inclined to talk about anything else.

Which was how Jack had spent most of the night, save the two hours of sleep she’d managed, learning all sorts of colorful English wizarding slang from Ginny just in case it turned out to be relevant.

She would never, ever, ever be able to hold a Bubbotuber without flinching again.

“Staring at it won’t help us get out the door any faster.”

Jack looked down the table. Hooch was flipping curtly through the Daily Prophet, more to avoid making eye contact with Sirius than, Jack thought, any real desire to read the umpteenth story about Harry Potter’s expulsion from Hogwarts. Jack had gawked at the paper that morning for as long as her drooping eyelids could allow. She’d heard of no fewer than four expulsions from Misery Academy when she lived with her parents, and not a single one had ever made the paper. She could certainly understand who it had happened to warranting one story, but a full four pages seemed excessive.

“I’ve got us all packed then,” McGonagall said stiffly as she entered the room, hands full of shrunken bags, including Jack’s. She dropped them in her pocket with nary a glance.

“Wait,” Ginny said slowly. She’d been staring at but not eating a full bowl of oatmeal, “You’re leaving? I thought it was just for the morning?”

Jack paused her attempt to spear cold slippery eggs off of leather binding to look to McGonagall’s face. It had that stony, not quite worried-not quite not expression she wore when a well-intentioned problem reared its head.

“Hogsmeade is safe again, we were only here temporarily, and with Mr. Potter’s imminent arrival, I’m sure you can understand that it might be a bit…crowded were we to stay,” she said softly, glancing at Jack in apology. Jack resumed trying to spear her eggs. It probably wasn’t how they’d been planning to tell her, but there were, as always, bigger problems to concern herself with.

“Nonsense, the more the merrier,” Siirus said, his voice was tight, full of hope. Jack wasn’t sure for what.

“Headmaster’s orders I’m afraid Black,” Hooch snapped from behind the paper, “and as charming as your little inn has become, I wouldn’t try to talk her out of following them.”

“Whatever’s easiest for you, right Xio?” Sirius barked as he stood from the table, leaving a small stack of buttered toast behind as he walked past Jack and out into the hall. 

“Xio if you wish to keep me in a good mood this morning you will swallow that retort,” McGonagall said softly, barely audibly. Hooch, her spikes the only thing visible behind the paper, straightened slightly but only grunted in reply.

“Can I say goodbye to the boys?” Jack asked looking up from her eggs, Ginny and Hermione had been present for this conversation, the twins and Ron hadn’t yet come down the stairs.

Hooch lowered the paper, raising an eyebrow in consternation, “You’ll be seeing them in three weeks anyway, but if you must.”

Jack put the fork down, gave Hermione and Ginny a small smile and moved to go upstairs. Ginny was still protesting loudly that she hadn’t even had a chance to ask Jack about a number of quidditch related things, like whether or not Hermione should continue dating Viktor Krum.

_Ok we’re going to have to talk about that later._ Jack thought with a punch-drunk smile as she ascended the stairs. Viktor was by all accounts a nice guy, though Jack hadn’t met him. She wouldn’t have guessed Hermione Granger to be his type though.

She walked past the Weasleys’ rooms, past all of the rooms on that floor in fact, and went to the stairs for the next floor up. When she knocked on the second to last door on the right, there was a brief grunt of acknowledgment, and Jack took that to be the closest to an invitation she was like to get.

“He’s not going to try to eat me, is he?” Jack asked as she pushed the door gently open.

Sirius was sitting on the ruined remains of a large feather bed, the Hippogriff – its name was Buckbeak, or so she’d been told – had turned it into a nest. The Hippogriff in question was currently lounging on its massive side, one wing raised in the air to allow Sirius to scratch underneath it.

“I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem to like anything other than rodent frankly,” Sirius said wistfully, pushing a large grey feather from his face. “A preference I greatly admire,” he added with a wry smile.

“I’m glad your godson is ok,” Jack said, taking a tentative step further into the room. Buckbeak raised his feathered head, golden eyes appraising her. She would have thought she would be more used to that by now. The Hippogriff, if he found anything at fault, didn’t seem to care much, as he merely flopped his over large beak back into the softness of the ruined mattress and stretched a little further to give Sirius better access for scratching.

“I am too,” Sirius said softly. “I’ve been curious, though I hadn’t thought to ask you, what your parents told you about him,” he added, looking up from the Hippogriff wing long enough to give her a small meaningful smirk.

Jack puffed a low breath through pursed lips. “Honestly, not much, just that no one knew or understood how-“ Jack paused for a moment, unsure if she should change the wording. “Well, they always said it was some weird magical fluke, or a trap by a deadlier wizard. I guess that would make sense, seeing as he was one, right?” 

Sirius smiled, “Yes, he was one. One-year-old and he accomplished more than any wizard of my generation,” he frowned a little. “James would have thought that the funniest thing he’d ever heard and probably been a little jealous.”

Jack smirked. “I’m not. How much must it suck to reach the pinnacle of wizarding achievement and not even be able to remember how you did it?”

Sirius smiled a little, let out a low rasping laugh, and coughed a bit as Buckbeak forced his neglected pinfeathers into his face.

“I’m glad he doesn’t remember. I wish I didn’t remember.” Sirius’s face fell. “You know, when I was in Azkaban, I worried a lot: about losing my memories, waking up one day and not remembering what James’s face looked like, or Remus’s voice, or what I wanted to be when I was sixteen…”

Sirius’s eyes had gone dreamy, far away. Whatever he was looking at, it wasn’t Jack, and she had to fight the urge back out of the room. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but this wasn’t it.

“I wish sometimes I had forgotten them, or at least how…” Sirius stopped, taking in a deep breath and shaking his head, like he was trying to drag himself back into his still wasted looking body.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t come up here to hear any of that,” he said with a nervous looking half smile. It used to be charming. This time, Jack was sure that it had used to be charming.

“I just wanted to say goodbye before we left,” Jack said returning the grin, far less charming on her. “You know, polite house guest kind of thing,” she swallowed again. She wasn’t sure if it was the odd conversation or the feathers but her mouth was awfully dry.

“Jack, I think we’ve come to understand one another. Would you say that you trust me?” he asked, his eyes very focused all of a sudden, his face perfectly calm and serious.

_When you’re with it, which I’m not convinced you are._

Jack faltered for a moment, trying to suss out what the right answer would be, then settled on the kinder one, “Yeah, I do.”

Sirius smiled, broad and genuine, then nodded, “I want you to be careful around Hooch. I know Minerva trusts he,r and some of the others do, but I’ve never understood how a muggleborn ended up in Slytherin, and I’ve never seen anyone quite so eager to go murder their friends.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “You tried to kill Pettigrew, after I mean,” she countered, her face felt hot all of a sudden, the room was stuffier somehow.

“Peter wasn’t my friend, he was an opportunist,” Sirius snapped, a dangerous looking flush crashing over his face. “He was pretending for as long as he needed us, then when-“ he stopped. His hand was shaking slightly and he leaned back on the mattress, appraising his tremor before continuing. “Hooch was fine with her pureblood friends one minute and was killing them the next. I’ve always wondered what it was they knew about her that made her so eager to end them.”

Jack stared at him, “Hooch was never a Death Eater,” she said flatly, no trace of doubt in her voice. It was one thing, to talk about her parents. She’d been stupid on that front, all the signs had been there, but Hooch had shown none of them, and she’d seen her face when she’d talked about her friends. Sirius was still mad, that was the only explanation, lucid for one moment, then delusional the next.

Sirius stood and walked towards her – not maliciously, Jack wasn’t afraid, or at least the white hot anger in her stomach was keeping the fear at bay.

“No, no she wasn’t,” he said, his tone was placating. He’d seen he was losing her, “but she wasn’t in the Order either, and when she finally came round, the only ones she got chummy with were Minerva,” he paused, his nostrils flaring, “and Snape, who nicked in about a month or two before her.”

“So you think-“ Jack began, not really sure what he thought but desperate to try to make some sense of the cryptic warning.

“I think she’s an opportunist, and if it ever comes down to you or her, she will always pick herself, that’s what Slytherins do,” Sirius said, frowning apologetically. “I would suggest you take care around her, or try to make yourself something she can’t live without, but those are the only two ways to deal with someone like that, and you don’t seem the sycophantic type,” he finished with an almost proud looking grin.

Jack felt slightly sick.

“Sirius,” Jack said, trying to cut into the monologue.

“I know, I know she’s been protecting you but – I just want you to understand that she may not always be willing to do that,” he said, that placating smile again, the hand on her shoulder, an elder sharing a hard truth.

“I want you to understand that if that day ever comes, the Order will still protect you, do you understand?” he asked, his eyes kind, but desperate all the same.

Jack nodded. He was pleased – mad, but still pleased, and that was all she’d been hoping for.

“Good,” he nodded, “Now don’t worry about Hogwarts, no matter what Minerva tells you. It’s a riot if you make the most of it all right?”

Jack nodded again.

“Good,” he said, relief flooding his voice as he smiled and turned back towards the bed.

“Thanks Sirius,” Jack said softly, turning towards the door.

“Jack,” Sirius said, his voice hurried again, she turned, hand on the doorknob, he looked lucid again, much more the dashing rogue he was always trying to be but softer, more thoughtful.

“Yeah?” 

He gave her a little grin, “I could only leave this house because the people here didn’t feel like my family, the Potters’ did,” he gestured toward her arm.

Jack pulled it closer, defensive, protective.

“It’s not cowardly to stay, when you have nowhere else to go,” he finished, easing himself back onto the bed and resuming his mopey grooming of Buckbeak.

“Are you always this profound?” Jack asked with a weak laugh. It was the only thing she could think to say, especially since if she were to be honest with herself, it meant a good deal more to her than she would ever let the crazy bastard know.

“Only at goodbyes,” he responded with a barking laugh, “Go. if Hooch comes looking for you, I’ll have to clean Buckbeak’s claws, and I hate that.”

“Bastard,” she muttered, more than loud enough for him to hear.

“Brat.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jack was still thinking about what Sirius said some six hours later.

Which was a problem as she could have really used the extra brain power. She’d been writing for two hours. They’d done the practical assessment first, and Jack thought she’d done well. The responsiveness of the Blackthorn wand actually had produced better results than she’d achieved in her equivalency.

The written though. Good Merlin’s ghost, the damned written.

It shouldn’t have made a difference at all, really, as she’d already decided that he was slipping a little, maybe even a lot still. 

_Welsh Green? Welsh Green what?_

There was no reason not to trust Hooch, no one else had given her cryptic warnings.

_Dragon, duh the one that looks like an Emerald Wyvern,_

It wasn’t weird at all that she had seemed so eager to leave that morning, or that she was emphatic that the other kids didn’t mention Jack to Harry Potter.

_Three milliliters dragon’s blood, two grams ground ash root, four grams finely minced beetle wings… or was it six?_

McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley had told them the same thing. Hermione had given Ginny a dark look but said nothing, a sure sign that she thought something was up. 

_Well fuck, you could do it that way, but the Hightower method is so much more efficient…_

It was Dumbledore, it had to be Dumbledore. There was no other reason for three fully blown adults to all give the same cryptic instructions.

_The British obsession with teacups is unnerving. They’re in every hypothetical…_

Whatever it was, Hooch was going along with it for now, which seemed strange considering how vocal she’d been about the fact that Dumbledore was not, in fact, omniscient.

_Guys if the goblins are rebelling this often, maybe you’re the assholes…_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Hooch took a long drag on her pipe and checked her watch again. Minerva had said it would take a while, but she hadn’t expected it to be this bloody long. She’d thought when Dumbledore ordered the test moved up that maybe Marchbanks wouldn’t have time to prepare properly, and it would result in a shorter, less stressful exam. 

Apparently, the ancient hag had just thrown every test manual down the stairs and compiled them. Hooch had never seen a booklet that thick in her life, and she’d read the entirety of the international Quidditch Federation’s most recent proposed rule changes.

“Checking every five minutes does not make the time move quicker,” Minerva said softly.

Hooch looked up. Her wife’s face was hidden behind a large teacher’s manual she’d borrowed from Marchbanks’ personal library. The sitting room they’d been stuffed into was comfortable, which was about the only positive thing she had to say for the entire flat.

“What are you reading that for?” she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. They’d been up far too late the night before, so late that Minerva had insisted that Hooch couldn’t apparate safely and had to spend the night. 

Not that it had been unpleasant.

Xio had barely been able to sleep at all these last few weeks. It was hard enough with Minerva there, let alone clear on the other side of the damned island.

“There is always room for improvement dear, I only seem perfect,” Minerva’s voice came from behind the book again.

Xio rubbed her hands together, biting down so hard on the stem of the pipe that her jaw ached.

“Do you think she’s alright in there?” she asked through her teeth.

Minerva finally lowered the book, dark eyebrow raised in question.

“I’m sure she’s fine, love,” she said, lowering the book further so Xio could actually see something below her spectacles. “Is that why you’re acting like a bachelor in a maternity ward?”

Hooch scowled, “I am not nervous, I am concerned. There is a difference.” 

“Well,” Minerva said, setting the book in her lap with a resigned thwap of the cover. “What are you concerned about? Clearly not the upholstery, since you’ve been puffing like a chimney for two hours now.”

Hooch sighed and extinguished the pipe.

“I don’t suppose that the almighty told you why?” Hooch asked, the question had been burning in her since Lupin had arrived that morning with instructions from Dumbledore.

“I read the same letter you did,” Minerva said with a warning look at the phrasing of the question.

“I know, but, for now, certain things must be kept from Potter,” Hooch said in a bad mimicry of Albus’s eccentric speech pattern. “Isn’t exactly descriptive, and I thought perhaps, what does she call him?” she asked, jerking her head towards the closed door.

Minerva’s mouth immediately buckled into a scarcely concealed smile, “The uh,” she began, trying desperately to keep her mouth straight, “Grand High…whatnot, backside, something like that.”

Hooch smirked, Minerva remembered, she just wouldn’t say it aloud.

“I thought perhaps he had informed his deputy headmistress and head of house for the boy in question, what the matter was?” Hooch leaned forward in the chair, giving Minerva her most piercing stare.

It was a little like trying to bore through a block of granite with a toothpick.

“He did not, and probably won’t,” Minerva said sitting back further in the chair and half raising the book again.

“I just don’t think it’s fair to ask that of the children without them knowing why,” Hooch opined, to the ceiling, as if she were talking to herself.

“No, you don’t think it’s fair to ask that of them without you knowing why,” Minerva said letting the book fall back into her lap. “You’ve never been concerned with their being in the loop before, least of all Jack.”

Xio looked at the floor, she didn’t actually have an answer for that.

“Potter has just been through a terrible ordeal Xio,” Minerva said softly. “Don’t you think it’s possible Albus just doesn’t want to give the boy yet another thing to worry about?”

_And I’m the Minister For Magic_

“I think that would be a very convenient reason, but not likely the real one. You’ve said yourself that Albus has been uncharacteristically vague since end of term,” Hooch said evenly, measuring the words as she spoke them. If she pushed too hard too soon, Minerva would shut down and the conversation would be over.

“You want to know why he’s being vague?” Minerva asked eyebrow arching higher.

“No,” Hooch said, trying to bite back the ramping frustration. “I want to know why he doesn’t want Potter knowing about Jack, all of his friends know. Surely he doesn’t expect Granger or Weasley to keep this to themselves,” Hooch began. “Which makes me wonder if he intends to let the girl have friends at all.”

Minerva closed the book in her lap and placed it on the table.

“Xio,” she said flatly. “Since when do you care if she has friends?”

“Do you disagree that she should?” Xio snapped, raising her hands in apology for the tone half a second after she’d finished.

Minerva sighed, “Of course I don’t, she’s been…” Minerva tapped a long finger on the side table. “She’s been better these last few weeks. I think Miss Weasley and Miss Granger are largely to thank for that.”

Xio nodded, she’d noticed the change too, The first time she’d come to visit, Jack had been almost relaxed, and apart from the panic last night, Minerva had made a point of telling her, there had been no more attacks.

“Then you see why this is completely unsustainable?” Xio asked, lifting her eyes to Minerva’s and frowning deeply.

“I do,” Minerva said, “which is why I’m sure it is temporary.”

Xio rolled her eyes, “Think he’s thought of that have you? Or should I expect to receive a letter instructing me to tell her not to talk to anyone on the train or in her common room?”

Minerva’s spectacles slid almost to the tip of her nose, her flinty eyes narrowing above the rims. Xio hated that; it was like she did it on purpose. She wouldn’t put it past her, actually.

“I think the greatest wizard of the twentieth century probably suspects that schoolchildren talk to their friends, yes,” she said with a bob of her head in annoyance at the sheer presumption that Albus Dumbledore might not think on what mere mortals did.

Xio slumped in her chair, Minerva was looking at her like she expected a biting retort but the truth of the matter was that Xio was simply too tired to have this argument…again.

“I didn’t ask what Elijah Crispin thought of it, I asked about Dumbledore,” she said sweetly, letting a corner of her mouth turn upward.

Minerva leaned back in her chair, anger replaced by wry amusement. “You know you only ever play this game when you’re losing a different one.”

Xio shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Elijah Crispin is not the greatest wizard of the twentieth century, he is not even Puddlemere United’s best Keeper of the twentieth century,” Minerva said flatly, reaching for the book again.

“Only keeper who ever shut me out an entire match,” Hooch said, trying to keep her voice nonchalant.

“You were knocked off your broom five minutes in and spent the rest of the match in St. Mungo’s,” Minerva said solemnly, opening the cover and trying to find her place again.

“I know, but I didn’t score in that five minutes, and I don’t think we should denigrate people’s accomplishments simply because there was a bit of luck involved.”

Minerva glanced up from the book, fingers still flipping pages, “You know you’re starting to sound like her, the older you get?”

Xio sat straight in the chair now, eyes darkening, “I most certainly am not.”

Minerva grinned, a wicked, sharp little thing that Xio only ever saw when her wife knew, absolutely knew, that she had gotten to her. “I think I’ve heard her say that precise thing actually, granted with the accent. For all I know, you may be paraphrasing.”

Xio stood. “Now that I’ve been insulted, I think I shall take the ancient one’s offer of helping myself in the kitchen, where I can smoke in peace and unmolested.”

That sharp little smile grew, and Minerva nodded, a gracious victor at least.

“While you’re in there, make sure the bird hasn’t destroyed the garden would you?” she asked to Hooch’s back as she made for the door.

“I’m going to turn that thing into a feather duster by September first, I swear it,” Hooch mumbled as she nodded her assent and left the room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Puffskein?_

Jack rubbed her eyes with the back of her fist. She’d guessed the last question. She knew she should go back and re-read the others, but in a rare moment of impulsive recklessness she snapped the booklet closed and slid it forward on the table, letting her forehead drop dramatically to its warm wooden surface.

“Come along dear, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Professor Marchbanks said tersely as she walked forward. She was fast, faster than Jack would ever have suspected based on her age, and plucked the booklet from the table, flipped the cover open, and then fanned the pages, scanning them quickly.

“Well you didn’t leave any blank, that’s a good start,” she said with a kind smile. “Why don’t you go sit with your aunt Minerva while I have a look at this. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so.”

Jack nodded dumbly. She felt like every nerve from her neck to the tips of her fingers had gone numb from overuse. Every brain cell she possessed had gone into survivalist hibernation almost an hour ago.

“Just through there dear, now. No worries, I’m sure you did just fine,” Professor Marchbanks said as she led Jack to the door from the office into the sitting room on the other side.   
The door closed behind her a moment later, Jack was still blinking in the harsh light from the lamp over the mantle.

“Well, one ordeal completed,” McGonagall said with a smile and an authoritative thud of the cover of a very large book.

Jack just groaned and fell into the large easy chair across from her.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, it was just a test,” McGonagall said still smiling.

“I just want you to understand, my equivalency was half that length, I had to prove I knew less to carry a wand than I had to prove I knew so I could go to school,” Jack breathed, staring at the fireplace and despite the summer haze, wishing it was lit for the sake of her numb legs.

McGonagall chuckled a little as she stood. “And what does that say about your equivalency?”

Jack looked up at her, she wanted to be angry, she wanted to argue, but the only thing she had the strength for at the moment was a hand gesture, and she did not want to know what the consequences of actually making that hand gesture would be.

“I was thinking this morning, that in all the excitement, I had forgotten to tell you something today,” McGonagall said, sounding, almost sheepish. Jack winked one eye open, this was entirely unexpected.

“What was that?” she asked flatly as McGonagall held out a hand.

“Come with me. Xio went into the kitchen an hour ago. If I don’t follow soon she might starve,” she said with a grin. Jack took the hand offered and was surprised at McGonagall’s strength as she pulled her to her feet.

Jack let herself be pushed forward, McGonagall’s hand a steadying presence on her shoulder as they walked.

“What didn’t you tell me?” Jack asked, trying to bite back the panic at the thought that it might’ve been important or useful for the mental acrobatics she’d been performing all day.

“You understand, of course, that you are never allowed to repeat this or tell anyone that I said it?” McGonagall asked as they pushed through a door and into the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Jack nodded, McGonagall didn’t look like she was about to impart some deathly secret, she looked a lot more like she’d forgotten to get milk at the store or something. That didn’t prevent the tightness in her chest, a constant companion since they’d left Grimmauld Place that morning, from gripping her anew.

“It doesn’t matter how you did on that,” McGonagall said with a nod towards the library. “If you got perfect marks all it would tell us is that you don’t need to go to school.”

Jack stopped walking, she looked up at McGonagall with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“I’VE BEEN-“ Jack caught herself, McGonagall’s eyes widening at the volume, “I’ve been saying that for a month!” she whispered harshly as McGonagall pushed gently on her shoulder, nudging her forward again.

“I didn’t want you to not take it seriously. I admit I’d thought to tell you that this morning so you wouldn’t take it TOO seriously,” McGonagall said stiffly as they finally reached the kitchen. Jack stepped out of McGonagall’s steering grip and pushed the door open, not the least bit because the knowledge that the test was pointless both relieved and infuriated her at the same time and she wasn’t sure which one would win out.

“My right hand may never be the same again. I think I gave myself nerve damage, “ Jack said, rubbing the offending extremity as McGonagall followed her into the room. Jack looked up to see three plates, with sandwiches and a small plate of cakes.

“Xiomara I’m impressed,” McGonagall said, shock and approval in her voice as she moved to look at the table.

“Don’t be, I nipped out.”

Hooch was perched on a stool just past the open garden door, pipe extinguished, Macha happily eating a slice of what looked like ham out of her hand.

McGonagall sighed. “Thank you all the same dear.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Hooch said, standing and shooing Macha back to the garden wall, “You, you all right?”

Jack, who’d been busy inspecting one of the sandwiches, beef and cheddar from the look of it, raised her eyes, “Yeah, I’m great. I just found out this was pointless-“

“It is not pointless,” McGonagall cut in. “It just doesn’t matter HOW well you did.”

“It would have been nice to know that at eight o’ clock this morning, we could be halfway back to Scotland if I’d known I didn’t have to—“ Jack began examining a pitcher next to her glass, it was full of milk.

“You would have anyway and you know it,” Hooch said with a smile as she reached the table and took a seat. There was a glass of red wine in front of her plate, a glass of water in front of McGonagall, and for some reason, Jack wasn’t sure quite what it was, the milk was now infuriating.

“How come you get wine? I’m the one who just poured my brains out over seven feet of parchment,” she snapped at Hooch, gesturing to the glass.

“And I had to sit and wait for you to finish, and I’m older,” Hooch said with a curt nod as she reached for the glass, “I don’t suppose Marchbanks gave you any idea how long it will take-“

“She said an hour,” Jack spat, lifting the sandwich. It was three o clock in the afternoon, and she hadn’t had anything to eat since seven that morning and two hours of sleep besides. Much as she hated to admit it, the sandwich looked like the tastiest thing ever.

McGonagall stopped, the salmon sandwich halfway to her mouth, and frowned, “That could be a problem.”

Hooch looked up from her own sandwich, her mouth was full, but her narrowed eyes conveyed all that was needed.

Jack sighed, “Why?” she asked, just in case McGonagall couldn’t read the expression.

“Because most of the shops at Diagon Alley close at five, so when you factor in travel time, that hardly seems enough time to get all of your supplies,” McGonagall said, looking pointedly at Hooch.

Hooch swallowed. “So we head straight home and she can get what she needs in Hogsmeade tomorrow. I’m not seeing the difficulty.”

“Her money Xio,” McGonagall said, sitting up straighter and staring down her wife with an affronted frown.

“You’ve been in London for weeks!” Hooch said, letting the sandwich drop to the plate, “You didn’t go to Gringotts?”

“I didn’t think it necessary, since we’d be going anyway,” McGonagall said, her tone full of warning.

Jack bit into her sandwich, this was a fight she wanted no part of.

Hooch let her palms drop to the table. “Well then we’ll go home and I’ll apparate in the morning and take care of it.”

McGonagall looked to Jack, then to Hooch. “I don’t think that’s actually the best option. I didn’t sleep well last night, I know you didn’t, and this one looks ready to fall to the floor any moment.”

Hooch glared at her. “We don’t have to take brooms, we could do side by side apparition only one of us needs to do it correctly,” Hooch offered, crossing her arms in defiance.

“The bird,” McGonagall said, nodding her head towards the garden.  
Hooch sighed, “I’ll apparate them one at a time.”

“Xio, I think it would be best if we stayed in London tonight,” McGonagall said, eyes flicking to Jack, who was halfway through her sandwich and got the distinct impression the glance was supposed to assure her that this wasn’t a fight when it obviously was.

“Well, we are no longer able to impugn upon Bl-…his hospitality for reasons you are aware of, so how on earth did you plan to do that?” Hooch asked, sitting forward and reaching for the wine again.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Jack turned in her chair to find Professor Marchbanks, rolled up parchment in hand in the doorway.

“Not at all Griselda. I don’t suppose you’ve finished already?” McGonagall said, turning to Professor Marchbanks, all smiles now.

Jack turned back to the table and tore into the sandwich. If she was done, she wasn’t sure how on earth she could have graded it that quickly if she’d done well.

“I haven’t but I don’t think I have to, and since a proper look over would have taken far longer than an hour,” Professor Marchbanks paused. Jack found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden.

“I have no trouble at all recommending she be placed in seventh year. She’s far above O.W.L. work and truthfully would probably do just fine on her N.E.W.T.S. with some remedial instruction on History of Magic.”

Jack slumped in the chair a bit, Hooch grinned broadly at her.

“Excellent news, Griselda, I can’t thank you enough,” McGonagall said patting Jack on the shoulder affectionately. “Malcolm will be extremely pleased when I tell him.”

Professor Marchbanks slid into the chair next to Hooch eyeing the small sandwich that the flying mistress had thought to buy her. “As he should be, though I have to be honest with you dear, those American teachers taught you some very strange wand motions.”

Jack gave a weak nod and a thumbs up. She suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore, all she wanted was to find somewhere soft to lie down.

“Well, this was lovely Griselda, but seeing as we have some shopping to do and of course a long trip back to Hogsmeade…” Hooch began, looking at her watch in relief.

“Xio,” McGonagall said softly, “a half hour’s difference is not enough.”

“An hour and a half is plenty of time for Gringott’s and we can do the shopping in Hogsmeade,” Hooch’s voice was tense and urgent and not a little plaintive. Jack felt for a second like she might laugh, but found she didn’t have the energy to actually do it. Her eyes had closed. She didn’t remember closing them but the chair, hard and wooden as it was, was feeling more and more comfortable by the moment.

“Xiomara,” McGonagall said.

Jack opened one eye to see that all three adults were looking at her, Professor Marchbanks with amused pity, McGonagall with concern, and Hooch with murderous frustration.

“There’s always the Leaky Cauldron, “ Professor Marchbanks offered.

Hooch swore, Jack tried to sit up a bit straighter.

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head a little and reaching for the remaining sandwich, she’d managed one bite before nearly nodding off in the chair.

“No you’re not,” McGonagall said looking to Hooch again. “Xiomara.”

“Minerva, it doesn’t matter how many times you say my name,” Hooch said stiffly, looking around her with her arms crossed like she was inspecting the kitchen for an escape route.

“Griselda, I know it’s a most rude imposition, but do you think we could have the room a moment?” McGonagall asked sweetly.

“Of course Minerva. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to have a look at that bird actually,” Professor Marchbanks said. Jack gave her a perfunctory smile and a wave, the elderly witch picked up her sandwich and walked out the garden door, already pulling some of the meat out for Macha.

“We know more than one person who lives in London,” McGonagall said, watching Marchbanks close the door and attentively waiting for the click.

“Absolutely not.”

“I vote for whatever makes Hooch the least happy,” Jack slurred into the bread of her sandwich.

“You don’t get a vote,” Hooch snapped, narrowing her eyes at Jack.

“I know,” she said solemnly, all of a sudden she wasn’t entirely sure how to work the sandwich.

“Xiomara, the girl’s gone barmy,” McGonagall said, gesturing to Jack. “Wouldn’t it be better to go somewhere we won’t have to disguise her?”

Hooch stared at her wife, “Who says we wouldn’t? Or do you think I want her parents snooping around…there.”

“I’m sure you don’t, nor do I, but it is the most sensible choice,” McGonagall said. She was still remarkably calm. Jack had never seen them argue this way, without shouting or frighteningly clever barbs.

“There is nothing sensible about that choice,” Hooch countered, not bothering to give a reason why it wasn’t sensible.

“Xiomara, if you insist we go to the cauldron I will accept that decision,” McGonagall said, she stood from the table and crossed her arms, a mirror, much taller image of Hooch herself, “but I must warn you that I am not above telling on you after the fact.”

Hooch’s mouth gaped open, her eyes going wide, “You wouldn’t,” she barked.

“I would, and I shall,” McGonagall said, still that calm, prim determination in her voice.

“For Merlin’s sake, can’t we just buy her a coffee?” Hooch, voice pitched with disbelief, gestured emphatically to Jack. 

The sandwich was surprisingly soft. She’d only meant to lean her face on it for a moment, but now she was finding it hard to lift her head.

“Xiomara she’s sleeping on a sandwich,” McGonagall said, her voice just now beginning to show signs of true anger. “I’m going to Rivka’s, if you don’t wish to come I won’t force you but I am taking the girl.”

_What’s a Rivka?_   
Jack had been fairly certain she’d asked this aloud, but was disappointed when no answer came, her eyes were drooping. This was highly undignified, but she was finding she cared less and less. Besides, if she wasn’t allowed a vote it seemed the most efficient method of protest at the moment. She might just close her eyes for a moment and then-  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

 

Jack opened her eyes. She felt better, a lot better despite the pressure of a nascent headache. She blinked twice; she wasn’t in Professor Marchbanks’ kitchen anymore. She sat up, a tricky thing to do in the over plush cushions of the floral couch she was spread out on.

She was in a small sitting room, thin rays of pale blue early morning sunshine were filtering their way in through the sheer white curtains behind her, illuminating the swirling vine pattern of the thick blue quilt that was draped over most of her below the neck.

She glanced around. It was the typical, homey chintz of the cottage, but it was not the cottage. Her trunk was on the floor next to the couch, her jacket and shoes from yesterday placed neatly atop it, and the journal, which now lived in the interior pocket of said jacket was open. Jack fought the urge to look; she had to know where she was first. The last thing she remembered was McGonagall and Hooch arguing about whether or not they were going somewhere, and judging by the unfamiliar surroundings Hooch had lost.

There was something comfortably familiar though, Jack sat up straighter, the smell of browning butter and onions was heavy in the room, a light sizzling noise coming from just ahead and to the left. Jack pulled the quilt off, swinging her feet out to touch them down on the heavy, worn looking carpet. She glanced at the journal, fought the urge again, then felt in her pocket for her wand. It wasn’t there, the heady rush of panic swelled quickly, then abated as she noticed it tucked neatly into the sleeve of her jacket.

She doubted she would need it. If she was in trouble, which was seeming less and less likely, it didn’t seem wise for a would-be abductor to leave a weapon in her reach.

She had to be careful, threading her way through the cluttered little room. There was a lot of porcelain and china all around her as she weaved her way through two low tables and several stands worth of tchotchkes. She almost missed the severe minimalism of the manor in Salem. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t have stuff, they had more than Jack was strictly sure they knew about, but it had always at least been out of the way.

There was a narrow swinging door into the kitchen that Jack pushed open with her wand out. The smell of butter and onion and…potato, it was definitely frying potato, hit her nose as if she’d walked into a solid wall. She knew that smell – the whole thing together, she knew exactly what that smell was.

“Latkes,” Jack breathed so softly that it was drowned out by the rumble of her empty stomach. There was a plate of golden fried potato at least four layers high already perched on a small bar style counter. The refrigerator, which Jack hadn’t realized was open, closed ahead of her to reveal a stoop shouldered woman in a loud red and blue checkered house dress and spectacles with bright red dappled frames that made her eyes look the size of saucers. 

“You’re awake?” the woman asked, though it wasn’t a question really. Jack was fairly certain that was what she’d said, but the thick eastern European accent had muddled up a few consonants.

“Uh…yeah, I’m Jack,” Jack said, blushing a little. It must seem awfully rude, to have barged in on her while she was cooking.

“You know latkes?” the woman asked with a small expectant smile. Jack nodded, wondering if it was just an accent or whether the woman spoke much English, when she disappeared into the refrigerator again and returned with a small glass container.

“Here, sour cream, you missed supper last night.”

The kitchen was wide but small and Jack covered the distance in two steps to take the sour cream from the old woman’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” Jack said smiling at the little table in the center of the room, it was already set for breakfast.

“You like sausage?” the woman asked, gesturing with a wrapped butcher’s packet at the frying pan.

Jack suppressed the juvenile humor running rapid fire through her brain and just nodded instead, probably safer that way.

“Uh, do you need help?” Jack asked, flushing a little that she’d forgotten her manners so quickly, but she was looking at the latkes again and it was hard to focus on almost anything else.

“You, eat, I made a batch special for you,” she said pointing to the plate that Jack had been staring at since she walked in.

“Those are all for me?” Jack asked, her eyes going wide, and not a little misty at the thought.

“All for you,” she began, setting the sausage down and poking a short, stubby finger into Jack’s collarbone. “You’re too skinny for sixteen.”

Jack grinned a little and reached for the plate. That was an accusation she’d never heard before. She wasn’t fat by any means, but she’d gotten a few comments from her mother when she was twelve and had filled out enough to need bigger clothes. It was one of the many reasons she preferred boy’s jeans; the straight legs did just enough to hide her hips.

“I could cut up onions or peel potatoes,” Jack offered, looking at the small mountain of produce the woman had piled on the counter.

The woman looked her over, cagily assessing if she could be trusted with such important culinary tasks, then shook her head and waved a dismissive hand at her. “I think I’ve handled more sausage than you anyway.”

Jack bit down on her lip so hard she thought it might bleed.

There was a snort from behind her and Jack turned to find Hooch lurking in the doorway. She was wearing casual muggle clothes, jeans and a worn looking tee shirt that had a broad stroke of black across the front over a white ship on green background, it read ‘P.A.F.C. Green Army’.

“Why do you do that?” Jack asked in exasperation.

“Constant vigilance, girl,” she said smirking, then she turned to the old woman and her face turned sharp. “Mother, I really wish you wouldn’t do that. She’s under the impression you’re some sweet, doddering old thing that doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

The old woman flipped Hooch off and moved towards the stove, Jack froze in place next to the table, still holding the latkes and sour cream.

“Did you-?” she started.

“Yes, I did,” Hooch said with a flat glare as she stepped into the kitchen, took the plate of latkes and set them on the table. “Jack, this is my mother Rivka Hooch, you may call her Mrs. Hooch and nothing else no matter what she says.”

“Uh, that’s a really weird thing to-“ Jack began, and there was laughter behind her. The old woman, Mrs. Hooch was chuckling heartily as she put the sausage on the stove.

“Call me Babka,” she said through a bright smile.

“No, no you will not,” Hooch said, plucking the dish of sour cream from Jack’s hand and setting it on the table.

“I’m so confused,” Jack sat and pulled the plate closer. This seemed another good time to be silent.

“I’ll alert the prophet,” Hooch said, spearing one of the latkes on Jack’s plate with a fork.

“Coffee?” Mrs. Hooch proffered a pot and a mug, Jack was practically swooning she was so happy to see it.

“What does Babka mean?” she asked taking the cup with a grateful smile.

“It’s a sweet, yeasty bread of eastern European origin,” Hooch said quickly, Mrs. Hooch frowned.

“My Xio thinks she’s funny,” she said, turning back to the stove.

“I am funny,” Hooch said with a smirk at Jack as McGonagall walked through the door into the kitchen. She looked exhausted. She was wearing slacks and a button up blouse, Jack had never seen her in muggle clothes before. It was almost alarming how normal she looked.

“Good Morning,” she said, bending forward to peck a chaste kiss at Hooch’s temple before she moved to the cabinet, there was one tiny box of store brand tea there that she pulled down fighting a yawn.

“I see Rivka has already begun fattening you up,” McGonagall said, pulling an electric kettle down and sidestepping her mother in law to get to the sink.

Jack had just stuffed her first latke in her mouth, without sour cream as a control. It didn’t need it. She was almost certain that there were little hearts dancing over her head as she chewed.

“She’s too skinny. No wonder, having to eat English food,” Mrs. Hooch said, pulling a long brown cigarillo from the pocket of the apron she was wearing, she bent towards the stove to light it.

“Mother,” Hooch growled in warning, “at least wait until after we eat.”

“It’s my house,” Mrs. Hooch said. A puff of acrid, weedy smelling smoke wafted into the air. There was something vaguely sweet in it, not like Hooch’s pipe, something that reminded Jack of mulling cider.

“It’s fine Xio,” McGonagall said, small smile doing little to disguise her wrinkled nose as she waved the first plume of smoke from her face.

Mrs. Hooch, still puffing on the cigarillo, looked pointedly at McGonagall and nodded at the potatoes and onions on the counter. McGonagall, in the middle of pouring her tea, took her wand from her pocket and pointed it at them, a knife jumped out of the block and began prepping with a vengeance, a little quicker and a little more aggressively than Jack would have expected.

“So today, Diagon Alley and then home for lunch?” Hooch asked, waving smoke from her face and glaring at Jack who was on her third latke. It didn’t need the sour cream, but for fuck’s sake, it was a crime to go without.

Mrs. Hooch plucked a sausage from the pan with her bare fingers and placed it gingerly on Jack’s plate. Jack stopped eating a latke mid bite. She was having a crisis of conscience, which to eat this very moment.

“Mother I realize London is less civilized than Devon but-“ Hooch began.

“No more smart talk till after coffee,” Mrs. Hooch cut in, reaching for the pile of prepped vegetables that McGonagall had set to washing themselves in the sink, “Don’t wash them! The dirt is good for you.”

Jack grinned a little, lifting the sausage and nodding her agreement. She took a bite and decided to petition Hooch to just let her stay here. No need to go to school, this would be fine.

“You still want to eat that?” Hooch asked nodding at the food on the table. Mrs. Hooch was dropping a half a brick of butter onto a griddle.

“In what universe would anyone not want to eat this?” Jack asked, stuffing the rest of the sausage into her mouth and grinning broadly when Mrs. Hooch dropped two more onto her plate.

“Mother is any of this for us or are we just to take the girl’s leftovers?” Hooch asked, eyebrow rising as her mother began squishing potatoes and onions through a bit of cheesecloth.

“I thought you said you were on a diet?” Mrs. Hooch said with a knowing look over her shoulder. “There is fruit and porridge. You’re a big girl, make it yourself.”

“I love her,” Jack said softly as McGonagall took the seat beside her, cup of tea in hand.

“Now Rivka, you know Xio’s only ever on a diet when you make goulash,” she said with a wink in Jack’s direction. Jack grinned even wider as Mrs. Hooch turned and set a substantially smaller plate of sausage in front of McGonagall.

“Latke will be ready in a minute,” she said with a grudging nod at the Deputy Headmistress and a forceful puff of smoke from the cigarillo.

Hooch’s face went cartoonily aghast, “HER! You don’t even like her! I’m your daughter woman!”

“I like Minerva fine,” Mrs. Hooch said with the tiniest look of solidarity towards McGonagall. “She knew enough at least to bring the girl here and not to a pub.”

Hooch stared daggers at her wife. Jack tucked another latke into her mouth as Mrs. Hooch dropped a mug of steaming, stand-a-spoon-up-in-it coffee in front of her with a large pitcher of cream and full bowl of sugar.

“You said you’d tell on me if we didn’t come,” Hooch said eyes narrowing as McGonagall sipped her tea.

“I didn’t say anything,” McGonagall said with a small smile as she speared one of Jack’s latkes off of her plate. Jack didn’t mind as much now. She was starting to feel depressingly full.

Mrs. Hooch set a plate of latkes in front of her daughter and whipped a dishtowel across the back of her head. “No one needs to tell me how you think.”

Jack almost spit out potato, she had to pause for half a minute to keep from choking on it before she could swallow.

“You, skinny, chew your food,” Mrs. Hooch barked as she turned back to the griddle. It was like watching some steam powered assembly line with the little trail of smoke drifting towards the ceiling as she worked.

By the time Mrs. Hooch had finally finished making breakfast, Jack couldn’t have eaten another thing if she’d tried. By the time the adults had finished eating, she was starting to feel vaguely hungry again, but she wasn’t sure if that was real or just a desire to put off leaving the house. 

“Well,” Hooch said, setting her napkin down and standing from the table. “I’m going to go change. The garden gate is fixed by the way if you care to know. Minerva you have a list I presume?”

McGonagall nodded, setting down her now empty tea cup and pulling a short roll of parchment from the pocket of her slacks as Hooch walked to the stairs.

“Seventh year textbooks, cauldron, the usual, and of course we’ll need to stop by Madam Malkins for your uniform,” she said, then looked thoughtful. “Actually now that you’ve passed your exams, we’ll need to talk about your electives. You did particularly well in arithmancy and ancient runes, so I would suggest you start there.”

Jack looked thoughtfully at her plate, that made sense.

“I still don’t understand what kind of school doesn’t teach art or music,” Mrs. Hooch said with a sigh as she stood and reached to begin clearing plates. Jack, anxiety getting the better of her at last, jumped to her feet and grabbed every dish she could reach. Mrs. Hooch nodded approvingly and bent to the stove to light another cigarillo.

“Almost all of them, anymore,” McGonagall said with a knowing glower at Mrs. Hooch.

“I think I might want to take Muggle Studies,” Jack said, a slight flush creeping into her cheeks. “Hermione said it was very interesting.”

McGonagall chuckled a bit, then nodded, “I think that’s a fine idea, though I must warn you Miss Granger finds everything interesting.”

“Well so do I,” Jack said, just a little defensively, she missed Hermione already. If nothing else, she could have done with some support for when she finally asked McGonagall if she could see her scores from yesterday’s marathon testing.

Mrs. Hooch smiled a little at her from the stove, “You could just stay here. I could teach you how muggles live.”

“Mad muggles, nosy muggles, gossip muggles,” Hooch listed in singsong as she came down the stairs. It wasn’t her usual steady gait either a sort of controlled falling.

“You try to break my stairs?” Mrs. Hooch said, exasperated over her shoulder, then she turned back to Jack. “Ever since she could walk, she can’t go down stairs without setting off an air raid drill.”

“Only your stairs mother,” Hooch said stiffly gesturing McGonagall out of her chair. “You, leave the dishes, I’ll see to them when we get back. Now, let’s go before I end up having to spend another night in this house.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“I’ll go easy on them!” Jack protested as she pushed through the gate to the little house some four hours later, her arms were weighed down with packages. Her pocket was weighed down with surprisingly heavy British coins that they’d had exchanged, and her chest was tight with the argument she’d been having with McGonagall since they’d passed Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“The answer is no! You are a professional, it would be unseemly, and we are trying to keep you hidden besides!”

Hooch snorted as she reached for the door handle, looking over her shoulder at her wife in open contempt. “Just because you’re afraid you might have to hand the quidditch cup to Filius at the end of term doesn’t mean-“

McGonagall sighed so loudly that Mrs. Hooch’s neighbor looked up from his gardening and gave them a disapproving look.

“Afternoon Jasper,” Hooch said with a weak little wave as they pushed into the house.

“It’s reverse psychology! Obviously, if I were hiding that I was a professional quidditch player I wouldn’t play! They’ll never expect it!” Jack said desperately as she fumbled the packages into a neat pile by the door and followed McGonagall straight into the kitchen again.

Mrs. Hooch was sitting at the table, cigarillo in one hand, an Agatha Christie novel in the other.

“If that’s the best argument you have, I think we can safely send your regrets to the debate team,” McGonagall said dryly as she moved to the cabinets to start ferreting out her afternoon tea.

“We have a debate team?” Hooch asked, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek as she went ferreting in the opposite cabinet, for what Jack wasn’t sure.

“What is the problem?” Mrs. Hooch asked as Jack took the seat next to her. “Why is my Jack upset?” she added, turning towards McGonagall. Jack grinned a little, when Rivka said her name it sounded more like ‘Jek,’ and she had to admit she sort of liked it.

“Your Jack is upset because I will not allow her to set her formidable skills against amateurs who would not stand a chance against her,” McGonagall said with a narrow glare at Jack. Jack sank in the chair a little, she didn’t think she was wrong but had to admit when McGonagall put it that way it stung a bit.

“So what? You said that evil wizard was back, why not let the girl have a little fun?” Mrs. Hooch asked taking a long drag on her cigarillo and winking at Jack.

Jack could have kissed her.

“There are other considerations,” McGonagall said. “Such as his followers not finding her, as we explained last night.”

Mrs. Hooch shrugged, “Sounds like a good time to have fun to me. Nothing pisses off a Nazi more than an undesirable having fun.”

McGonagall sat up a little straighter, the slightest betrayal of discomfort on her face. “I’m not trying to make them angry, I’m trying to keep them away from her.”

Mrs. Hooch took another long drag from her cigarillo, “When you can’t kill them, I’ve found the most satisfying thing to do is piss them off,” she said with a wicked smile. “Next best thing anyway.”

McGonagall sighed, “Rivka I don’t think-“

“No, you don’t know,” Mrs. Hooch said suddenly very alert. “You don’t know what it feels like, they deserve, all of them, they all deserve to-“

Hooch emerged from the cabinet, concern written on her face, with a tin of cookies. She set them on the table and took a seat, “Jack, much as it pains me I think Minerva is right.”

“When has telling me ‘no’ ever pained you?” Jack asked, letting her arms flop to her lap in frustration.

“Why are you wearing long sleeves?” Hooch asked pointedly. It was eighty degrees out, London was sweating, and Jack had to wear a hoodie because she could no longer wear short sleeves in public.

“What does that have to do with anything? It’s not like you guys play without bracers is it?” Jack asked as Hooch put two cookies on a plate and slid them towards her.

“What if your arm gets hit with a bludger? What if someone looks up while you’re changing?”

“I’m not sleeping in my uniform, am I?” Jack asked with a pointed look at Mrs. Hooch, as if to ask ‘can you believe this?’ when she remembered the woman probably had no idea what they were talking about.

“There are certain niceties of privacy that are observed in a dormitory that are less observed in a locker room and you know that,” Hooch said pointedly. “Or are you going to tell me that your teammates in New York are still a mystery to you?”

Jack flushed the color of the loud rug beneath the table. They were actually. Jack had changed more than half into her locker. At home she’d had her own room, and granted, Keysha had liked to debrief after a game in little more than a towel, but even then everything had been above board, as her mother would have said. Jack shuddered a little at the thought of her mother saying that.

“I can say, definitively, that I do not know what my teammates look like naked,” Jack muttered, eyes darting to the cookies and then to McGonagall’s face. She was looking only slightly less scandalized than Jack at the suggestion.

“Even Ms. Rico?” Hooch asked, taking an authoritative bite of what appeared to be an almond butter cookie.

“Xiomara,” McGonagall said, eyes darting to her wife in warning. “That’s quite enough.”

Jack stared at the three older women, Mrs. Hooch had raised an eyebrow and was looking to her daughter clearly in the hope of getting some details on the _decidedly non-juicy_ implication she had just made.

“I have no idea what you are trying to-“ Jack said, her cheeks reaching previously unexplored shades of red as she spoke.

“I read that journal,” Hooch said, biting into her cookie again and glaring at Jack to see if she would deny it again, whatever it was she was trying to say.

_Joke’s on you,_

“And I sleep over your bedroom,” she said flatly, looking pointedly at Mrs. Hooch before taking a bite of her own cookie. “Sadie is my friend, I’ve been getting a first-class course in what ‘not friends’ sounds like.”

McGonagall nearly spat out her tea.

Mrs. Hooch burst out laughing.

Hooch herself, dropped her cookie and turned a lurid shade of pink.

“Go to your room,” Hooch said waving a hand in her face.

“I don’t have a room here,” Jack said, crossing her arms and taking another bite of her cookie.

“Go to your couch,” McGonagall said, trying to regain her composure and wiping the rim of her teacup frantically with a napkin.

“See? This is what happens when you don’t have children,” Mrs. Hooch said through a wheeze of laughter and smoke.

“I am a teache,r Rivka, I’ve had thousands,” McGonagall said sharply. “And that is the very first time I have ever had one-“

“Imply that you have sex with your wife? What’s the big deal I mean aren’t you supposed-“ Jack began, beginning to feel just the slightest bit guilty for the state she’d put McGonagall in.

“Go to your couch,” Hooch said, poking her in the collarbone with one long bony finger.

“Fine!” Jack said, leaning as far from Hooch as she could before standing and moving towards the door. She doubled back for the other cookie. It was really very good.

“I love Americans,” Mrs. Hooch said as she left.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_I can’t believe you said that!_

Sadie had apologized straight off when Jack had finally gotten her to look at the journal. It had taken a minute, but she’d come clean pretty quickly about how bad she’d felt that she’d overreacted. Jack had apologized a further three times before Sadie had begged her to drop it.

_It was a guess. I’ve never heard anything, but now it’s confirmed. I might soundproof my own room at night._ Jack wrote back with a small grin on her face. The accusation had proved so on point that McGonagall had absented herself for a nap shortly after Jack had settled on the couch again, and Hooch had retreated to the small garden off the back, something about a loose wheel on a barrow.

_You should probably say you’re sorry later._

Jack scoffed, of course Sadie thought she should apologize. Sadie’s abuela would’ve crossed herself four times if she’d been there to hear it, and Sadie had inherited some of her grandmother’s modesty.

_I will, but I’m going to treasure the look on Hooch’s face forever._

Macha lighted on the armrest behind her head and pecked insistently at Jack’s shoulder. She reached into her bag for a few pieces of kibble and threw them for the crow. She didn’t’ think Rivka was likely to mind the crumbs.

_What brought that on anyway?_ the reply came in spidery letters. 

Jack straightened herself on the couch. She hadn’t actually told Sadie why she had dropped that accusation. She’d felt it might be embarrassing for the beater, even the implication. Sadie had certainly made it clear that she was not interested in Jack that way, had gone out of her way to tell her so shortly after she’d moved in. While reassuring from a social anxiety standpoint the phrasing had been, if Jack cared to admit it, borderline insulting. Though being fifteen had been the lion’s share of the reason.

_So there’s this girl, her name is Tonks…_ Jack began, it was a lie, it wasn’t what they’d been talking about, but considering that the accusation would have been more accurate if that was what it had been, it seemed a passable one.

_And she’s cute?_ Sadie wrote back, Jack could practically read the wink in it and it made her smile spread wider.

_Yeah, and apparently they noticed that I noticed._ Jack wrote back, starting to wonder if she should have just said anything else. Why had she lied? It was such a stupid lie and Jack was so bad at lying…

_Come on! I’m lovelorn over here! Tell me about the hot girl you met. ___

__Jack chewed her lip, this would be easy, it would be really easy in fact, Tonks was cute, this would be easy._ _

__“You. You hungry?”_ _

__Mrs. Hooch had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen just as Jack was setting pencil to paper._ _

___I wish I could but Mrs. Hooch needs help with dinner, you’ll just have to use your imagination until later._ _ _

__Jack had never written something that fast, that relieved, in her life._ _

__“I am hungry,” Jack said with authority as she finished her goodbye to Sadie and set the journal down._ _

__“Good you come help me make pierogi,” Mrs. Hooch said with a smile. She held out her hand to Jack and patted her arm affectionately when she took it._ _

__“Nice,” Jack said under her breath as Mrs. Hooch pulled her along into the kitchen. There was already most of a prep area covered in flour and a small pile of potatoes that were already peeled._ _

__“You like girls? All the American girls will want to date you if you can make pierogi,” Mrs. Hooch said with a wink and a laugh as she led her to the sink and ran the water. “Wash your hands.”_ _

__Jack paused, she was thinking of what Mrs. Hooch had said earlier, about killing Nazis. She could certainly understand the sentiment._ _

__She wondered if she’d ever seen a dark mark before. She rolled her sleeves up just past the wrists and began scrubbing, best to not take any chances. She didn’t know how much Hooch and McGonagall had told her, knowing Hooch probably a good deal less than the full truth._ _

__“Higher than that, you’re going to knead the dough and it sticks,” Mrs. Hooch said from where she was chopping potatoes on the other side of the stove._ _

__“I’ll be careful,” Jack said softly. She couldn’t stand the idea of the woman seeing that mark. With all it’s presence had already cost her that was a step too far._ _

__“Ok,” Mrs. Hooch said, just as softly. Jack couldn’t help but feel like she had maybe said something wrong._ _

__“So, what do we do first?” she asked, turning the water off and glancing to where Mrs. Hooch was already putting a plate of chopped potatoes next to her._ _

__“You can boil water? Xio can’t,” she asked with a raised eyebrow._ _

__Jack laughed, “Yes I can boil water.”_ _

__It was pleasant, pleasant and oddly normal to have someone showing her how to cook something. Mrs. Hooch had seemed pleased at least with Jack’s competence as a sous chef and was relaying stories and technique as she went in a way that put Jack at ease. Jack couldn’t help but feel that it was on purpose, the concerted effort to keep her calm, but found that she didn’t mind that much. The stories were interesting._ _

__Mrs. Hooch had grown up in Poland. She had three siblings, and her mother had taught her how to cook. She’d burned an entire chicken once because the handsome boy from her temple had stopped by the house to ask her father for help, and she’d kept him there for twenty minutes asking him questions about his job._ _

__“How did you meet Mr. Hooch?” Jack asked as she was mashing the potatoes now that they were boiled._ _

__Mrs. Hooch smiled, “Jon was in the Royal Medical Corp. We met near the end of the war, and I wanted to go to England.” She paused for a moment. “My family was gone, my country was in shambles, he liked me, and he loved Xio.” She stopped again, smiling more broadly. “He was a good man, I miss him.”_ _

__Jack coughed a little, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“_ _

__“It’s ok, it makes me happy to think of him,” she said with the same soft smile she’d worn at the question. “It makes me happy to think of all of them. Xio doesn’t like it when I talk about my family.”_ _

__Jack stood straighter, affronted on her behalf, “Why?”_ _

__“It makes her angry, and she thinks it makes me sad,” Mrs. Hooch said with a knowing look at Jack, like she could read her mind._ _

__Jack decided to change the subject, “I didn’t realize Hooch wasn’t-“ she didn’t finish the sentence, nodding to indicate what she’d meant and cursing herself inwardly for it, it was such an American thing to do, to ask an indelicate question and excuse it by not actually saying the words._ _

__“Jon’s? No. My boy, Jacob, he is, I think it makes her a little jealous,” Mrs. Hooch paused again, gesturing to the potatoes, “those are done.”_ _

__Jack decided to change the subject again, she hadn’t expected the answer to get that heavy and she was sure Hooch would not have appreciated her mother sharing that, “Well, did your parents have a problem with-“_ _

__Jack stopped again, this time because of the look on Mrs. Hooch’s face, it wasn’t reproachful, or angry or even sad it just read very clearly ‘girl how haven’t you figured this out yet?’._ _

__“My parents died two years before I met Jon, my siblings were all dead before them,” she paused, when Jack made no sign at all of breathing let alone responding, she continued. “I was the oldest. Ruta didn’t survive the ghetto, the boys lasted a little longer, one on the way to the camp, and the second a few months after. It was lucky, in a way. So many people I know have no idea what happened to their families. I know exactly.”_ _

__Jack had kept mashing. She hadn’t realized it but her arms were still moving._ _

__“I’m, I’m…” Jack stammered, stepping back from the counter and putting her hands to her face._ _

__“Don’t be,” Mrs. Hooch said softly. She stepped forward, took Jack’s left hand in hers and pulled the sleeve up above the elbow. She stared at the Dark Mark, Jack stared at her face, looking for any sign of the impending anger, the well-deserved, the oh so well deserved flood of rage that was coming._ _

__“Your parents gave you that,” she said, lifting her eyes to Jack’s. “Xio said last night.”_ _

__Jack swallowed. Her mouth was impossibly dry, far too dry to respond._ _

__Mrs. Hooch let go of Jack’s hand just long enough to roll her own right sleeve above a bony elbow. Jack looked. It was so faded it would have been hard to see if she weren’t so pale, periwinkle blue on almost translucent white, a triangle and then ‘18966’._ _

__Jack felt her breathing going ragged, tears starting to form in her eyes, she blinked them away. Mrs. Hooch hadn’t cried once while she was talking. Jack had no right to now._ _

__“Look at me dziewczyna,” she said firmly. Jack obeyed, though she wasn’t sure what it was she’d just been called._ _

__Mrs. Hooch placed the arm with the tattoo next to Jack’s own outstretched one. The mark looked so dark and ugly next to her pale thinness that Jack had to fight the urge to pull it away, like the mark itself might try to hurt her._ _

__“Never, ever let something that _someone else_ put on you, define who you are.”_ _

__Jack looked down at the mark. It looked distorted and alien in bright light. She’d only ever had the nerve to look at it in near darkness._ _

__“I am not my mark, and you are not yours, do you understand?” she asked, softer this time as she let Jack’s hand go finally. Jack nodded, though she wasn’t sure that she did, not really._ _

__“Good. Now come over here and help me wrap these before Xio comes in here on a tear because she meant to be gone an hour ago,” she said with a small smile and an affectionate pat on Jack’s cheek._ _

__Jack moved next to her as she handed her a small round of the pierogi dough and showed her how to stuff it._ _

__“This should be more your thing I think,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows at the admittedly yonnic shape the little pocket of dough made. Jack burst out with a shaky laugh as she nodded._ _

__She left her sleeve up, watching the mark move and stretch with her muscles as she worked._ _

__“Do you ever get used to it?” she asked all at once as they were finishing the assembly. Mrs. Hooch was busily preparing a pan to fry the finished ones._ _

__“No,” she said with a small smile and shake of her head._ _

__“Why do I feel I’ve just walked into something nefarious?” Hooch said from the doorway, the P.A.F.C. shirt was streaked with dirt now._ _

__“Would it kill you to knock?” Jack and Mrs. Hooch said at the same time._ _

__“Oh, Merlin save me, we’re leaving as soon as we’ve eaten,” Hooch said with mock horror._ _

__Mrs. Hooch laughed, Jack smiled weakly. Her brain was still abuzz, she hoped it would pass before McGonagall returned. She wasn’t sure she’d be sharp enough to convince her that she should fly, and if the argument kept either woman from asking what they’d talked about while they were cooking, she’d fight to her last word._ _

__……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………._ _

__Hooch was, disappointingly enough, true to her word and as soon as the dishes were cleared, McGonagall had packed their things and was standing in the hall. Macha perched on her shoulder, waiting patiently for Mrs. Hooch to stop hugging Jack long enough for them to leave._ _

__“I packed you biscuits,” the old woman was saying in her ear as a bag of something almond smelling slid into the pocket of her hoodie. Jack smiled her thanks and hugged the woman back hard._ _

__“My goodness, Mother, you’re going to see her in three weeks,” Hooch said with a groan of displeasure as Jack extricated herself from Mrs. Hooch._ _

__“Really?” she asked._ _

__“My suggestion dear. I thought we could stay here the night before you have to get on the train,” McGonagall said with an expectant smirk._ _

__“You’re kidding,” Jack said flatly._ _

__“Oh no dear, start of term is almost upon us,” McGonagall said, the smirk widening._ _

__“It’s ok. I’ll teach you to make paprikash,” Mrs. Hooch said with a final affectionate pat on Jack’s face._ _

__“You never taught me to make anything,” Hooch muttered irritably as she shooed Jack towards the door._ _

__“You never wanted to learn, My granddaughter wants to learn,” Mrs. Hooch said with a wink and a smile at Jack._ _

__“She is not your granddaughter,” Hooch said stiffly._ _

__Mrs. Hooch rolled her eyes, “Right, and that one was just your ‘patrol partner’, “ she said with a dismissive flap of her deadly dishcloth._ _

__“A pleasure as always Rivka,” McGonagall said as she added her hand to Jack’s shoulder and helped Hooch push her to the door, “See you at the end of August dear.”_ _

__“Jack,” Mrs. Hooch said sharply, and Jack looked over her shoulder. It was something of a feat with Hooch and McGonagall being so insistent._ _

__“I want to know how your first match goes.”_ _

__“For fuck’s sake, Mother,” Hooch muttered. “This is why you wanted grandchildren isn’t it? To undermine my authority at every turn?”_ _

__“You’re doing fine on your own sweetheart.”_ _


End file.
